"West!" Prussia said, banging on the door. "I'm home! Let me in already!"

He heard Germany walking toward the door and shushed the little boy he was dandling on his hip. The kid smiled and pressed a finger to his lips.

"Surprise!" the boy whispered. It was one of the few words that Prussia had managed to teach him. Germany was undoing the locks on the other side of the door.

"You have a key of your own, brother," Germany said, sounding exasperated.

"Hands're full," Prussia said, snorting. "Come on—hurry up! It's freezing out here!"

Finally, Germany opened the door and stood aside to let Prussia in.

"What could you possibly be carrying?" Germany asked, then did a double-take. The kid grinned and waved at Germany brightly.

"Hello!" the kid said. That was the only word he'd known when Prussia had found him. Prussia hustled inside and shut the door, shivering.

"What the h—" Germany began, but Prussia clapped his hand over Germany's mouth.

"West!" he admonished. "He's hardly two, and he only knows five words. I don't want the sixth one to be—" Prussia hesitated, bouncing the kid on his hip. "No bad words, okay?"

"That's unusually responsible of you," Germany said, narrowing his eyes. "But I did not expect you to return with a child."

"I haven't named him yet," Prussia said, "so I mostly call him the kid."

"Why do you have him, brother?" Germany said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Prussia grinned, carrying the kid over to the couch and setting him down, playfully ruffling the boy's dark blonde hair.

"Found 'im," Prussia said. "Over in East Germany, actually, when I left on my trip. I looked and looked for his parents, but nobody wanted him." The kid smiled as Prussia plopped down beside him and draped his arm around the kid's shoulder. "So I took him with me."

Germany sat down across from them, examining the boy's face.

"We can't have a child, brother," Germany said slowly. "We don't age. We're immortal."

"Not me," Prussia said, very softly. "Not any more." He saw Germany stiffen with alarm, but the kid was pulling on his shirt sleeve.

"Up," the boy said insistently. "Up now."

Prussia grinned, then set the kid on his lap.

"That—that can't be," Germany said, looking at Prussia with horror. "You look the same as ever."

"The last people to call themselves Prussian are dying," Prussia said, his voice still quiet. "Prussia vanished decades ago, West. I was East Germany while people kept the identity separate, but more and more people are calling themselves German. It's the twenty-first century, West. I can feel it—I'm going to start aging soon."

The kid buried his face into Prussia's chest, and Prussia patted his hair.

"So indulge me this once, 'kay? It'll be totally awesome to have a kid around again."

"Up!" the kid said, giggling. "Up, up!"

"Up you go!" Prussia said, tossing the kid into the air again. He shrieked with delight. "Is that gonna be your name? Up?"

"Up!" the boy insisted. Prussia tossed him upward, not hesitating as Germany walked through the door. Germany's brow was creased with worry.

"What's up, West?" Prussia said, still grinning. "Me and the kid have been having the most awesome day!"

"Oh?" Germany said, leaning back against the door. He'd been training again and was toweling off.

"Up!" the kid shouted.

"And away you go!" Prussia said, tossing him up in the air again. The human-feeling was seeping into his arms—he was getting tired long before he ever had as a nation. "Well, we started off with some of Mattie's awesome pancakes," Prussia began, then grunted as he threw the kid into the air again. "Then we played with some foam paint in the bath," Prussia grunted as he caught the kid again, suddenly not sure he'd be able to keep it up. "Wanna play airplane?" Prussia asked, tweaking the kid's nose. The kid nodded, a gap-toothed grin bright on his face, and Prussia hefted him up, balancing the kid on his knees, then feet, before stretching his legs out to let the kid fly. "After the bath, we played hide and go seek."

"Up!" the kid begged, and Prussia bounced him once on his feet.

"You were always terrible at hiding," Germany said, and Prussia caught him smiling for an instant before he hid it with his hand.

"The kid's sharp," Prussia said, bouncing him one more time. "He caught me, all right."

"And then you started playing this?" Germany asked. Prussia nodded.

"Hug," the kid said, squeezing Prussia's hands. "Hug now!"

Prussia chuckled, then bounced the kid off his feet and sat up quickly to catch him. The boy buried his face into the crook of Prussia's neck, and Prussia hugged him as tight as he dared.

"I mentioned him to the others," Germany said. "You only told Canada?"

"Just Mattie, yeah," Prussia said. "Did you tell Feli?"

"He's the only one who thinks you know what you're doing," Germany sighed. "Hungary looked ready to strangle me."

"Can I take him to the next meeting?" Prussia asked. "I think it'd be good to introduce him to his extended family."

"I'm not sure whether a child belongs at a world conference," Germany said hesitantly. The kid settled down on Prussia's lap, and Germany's expression softened slightly. Prussia could tell that he was trying to be gentle when he spoke again. "Brother, we can find him a home with human parents. With brothers and sisters."

"No," Prussia said simply, stroking the kid's hair. Germany opened his mouth to speak, and Prussia leveled him with a glare. "No, West," he said, carefully keeping his tone level. The kid curled up on his lap and stuck his thumb in his mouth. "You know what the fifth word he knows is?"

"I've only heard him say up, now, hug, and hello," Germany said carefully. Prussia roused the kid gently, then pointed at himself.

"Who am I?" Prussia asked softly. The kid smiled sleepily up at him.

"Papa!" the boy said, nuzzling against the front of Prussia's sweater. Germany stiffened, and Prussia smiled back at the kid, the human-feeling welling up in his chest as he patted the kid's head.

"Good night, kid," Prussia said quietly. The kid mumbled, stuffing his thumb back in his mouth, and Prussia looked up at Germany, who was shaking his head and moving to the door.

"I'll call Italy over for dinner," Germany said. "I think that you'll need all the support you can get."

"Hey, kid," Prussia said, stooping down and holding out his hand. The kid froze, looking terrified, and Prussia used his most soothing voice and smile. "It's okay. Come here."

The kid eyed him suspiciously. Prussia didn't dare to move; the kid was walking pretty well, and he didn't want to have to chase him down. He looked hungry, dirty, and scared half to death. But Prussia knew that look—the kid didn't want to be alone. He wanted a family.

Slowly, the boy approached him. Prussia knew immediately that the kid had been lost or abandoned for at least a week; the kid looked half starved.

"Let's get you some lunch, okay?" Prussia said. The kid looked up at him, then carefully reached over to him, tugging his shirt sleeve.

"Hello," the kid said. Prussia smiled at him, his heart twinging in his chest.

"Hello," Prussia said. "Let's see if we can find your family, okay?"

He couldn't find them, or even anyone who admitted that they recognized the kid.

"What's your name, kid?" Prussia begged, flopping down on the hotel bed—he'd been searching for two weeks already. The kid shook his head; he'd yet to say anything other than 'hello,' and even that was rare. Prussia sighed. "I don't think your mama and papa are around any more," Prussia said, his throat constricting at the word 'around.'

He draped one arm over his eyes. The human-feeling was burrowing its way into his arms and legs; the search had taken a toll on him, even on his own streets. It was an alien sensation, and the uncomfortable truth of those words—not around anymore—was weighing on him. He bit his lip and forced himself to laugh, but tears burned in his eyes.

"Papa?" the boy said, touching Prussia's sleeve. Prussia froze, pulling his arm away from his face.

"What was that?" Prussia said. The boy hesitated for a moment.

"Papa?" the kid repeated, sounding less sure of himself. Prussia broke into a grin.

"Yeah!" Prussia said, the weight leaving him. "Yeah! I can be your papa! I'll take you with me—we can go all over the place! I'll be the most awesome papa ever!"

The kid smiled at him, and Prussia pulled him into a hug.

"What's your name, kid?" Prussia whispered into the boy's hair. "If I'm your papa, then who are you?"

The kid didn't reply; he just buried his face into Prussia's chest. Prussia pressed his face into the kid's hair. He thought about the backpacking trip he'd planned—he'd told Germany not to expect him for at least three months. He'd only packed lightly, aside from his documents and credit card. Could he rely on the nations to let the kid in with him? Where would a kid like to go? He'd need a name to get him a passport of his own—

Prussia felt his heart stutter, and he had to stop himself to keep from squeezing the kid too tight. Prussia had raised more dogs than he liked to remember; he'd named them as they wandered into his life, generally as strays. They'd gotten old in the blink of an eye and—and now they weren't around any more.

Naming the kid meant that he was keeping him. It meant that the kid was really his kid. What if he wasn't allowed to keep him? What if his—his real parents came looking for him? Prussia swallowed to ease the lump in his throat. The kid was asleep in his arms, and Prussia was alarmed to feel them falling asleep.

"I'm going to be the most awesome papa ever," Prussia told himself. "I will."

"Are you feeding him right?" Hungary demanded, scooping up the boy and bouncing him on her hip. The boy pulled away from her, and she frowned slightly. "What about water? You are making sure to check his diapers regularly, aren't you?" Hungary hesitated, then looked at the boy again. "And what's his name?"

"He eats everything on his plate, drinks plenty of water, and I've never found him with a dirty diaper," Germany said in a clipped, defensive voice, then coughed. Prussia shot a smile at him.

"You're freaking him out, Lizzy," Prussia said, holding out his arms for the boy. He reached for Prussia, lower lip trembling.

"Papa!" the boy said. "Papa, hug!"

Hungary huffed, but handed the kid back to Prussia. The kid happily hid his face in Prussia's sweater, and Prussia soothed him by rubbing his back.

"At least tell me his name," Hungary said, looking longingly at the boy. "Especially if you insist on calling me Lizzy!"

Prussia looked away, searching for a chair in the large, mostly empty meeting room. Germany had insisted on coming early to the meeting, and Hungary had been waiting for them to arrive, eager to meet the kid. Germany cleared his throat.

"Prussia calls him the kid," Germany said, and Prussia felt a bite of shame at the note of apology in Germany's voice.

"You haven't even named him?" Hungary asked, incredulous. "You shouldn't be—"

"Hungary," Germany said, and Hungary paused. Prussia was trying to soothe the kid, who'd started crying.

"It's okay, kiddo," Prussia said. "Up?"

"Up," the kid agreed, sniffling. Prussia hefted him up onto his shoulders.

"Ready?" Prussia asked. The kid tugged on his hair, and Prussia took off running around the table. He could feel the weight of his body more keenly than he had even the day before—or maybe that was his imagination. The kid shrieked in delight, though, and Prussia managed to forget the weight.

When Prussia finally came to a halt, huffing and puffing, both he and the kid were laughing. Prussia could hardly breathe—the feeling of not having enough oxygen, of really needing the air, was foreign and terrifying and maybe a little exhilarating—and he sank heavily into a chair, setting the kid on his lap.

Hungary was looking at him—considering. Prussia didn't make eye contact with her.

"I've known you longer than anyone, Prussia," she said. "And even I'd forgotten..." she swallowed, shaking her head. "Okay. I guess I was a little jealous, too," she admitted. "But I didn't realize that you were..."

"Human?" Prussia asked. Hungary winced, and Prussia smiled. "Now you'll have the satisfaction of outliving the awesome me, Lizzy!"

"Stop calling me Lizzy," Hungary said, sitting down beside him. Germany pulled up the chair across the table from them. The kid stood up on Prussia's lap, then sat on the table.

"Humans call their friends by human names," Prussia said, reaching up to play patty cake with the kid. Hungary took in a long, slow breath, then let it out. "I'll name him," Prussia said, looking at the kid, not Hungary, as he spoke. "I just—I don't know what happened to his—" he couldn't say real, "—his birth family."

"I could do some research," Germany offered. "There should be birth records, if we can estimate his age and location."

Prussia missed a clap in patty cake, and the kid looked up at him, confused.

"Papa?" the boy asked, touching Prussia's cheek. Prussia felt his breath catch in his throat. Before he could respond, though, the conference room door flew open.

"Wow!" America said. "I thought for sure that I'd be the first one here today! You're all, like, an hour early!" America peered over Prussia's shoulder, beaming at the kid. "You brought the kid!" America said, absolutely ecstatic. "That is so cool! Hi there, little guy!" America ruffled the kid's hair, and the kid slid off the table to curl up on Prussia's lap. America laughed. "So he's a shy little fella," America said brightly, setting an armful of files on the other side of Prussia. "That's okay! I'm sure he'll warm up to us eventually."

"I didn't know that you were fond of children, America," Germany said. America chuckled.

"I just love them," America said. "Best part of life. That's why I try to help out at after school programs and stuff when I have free time—usually I read to them. Do you think that I could read to him sometime?"

"Sure," Prussia said, grinning over at America. "It takes a village, right?"

"And you've got the whole world behind you!" America said.

"You aren't the whole world, America," Hungary said, and America blinked.

"What, there are people who aren't behind Gil?" America said. He looked flabbergasted at the notion. "Let me at 'em! They don't have any right to tell Gil what to do! Especially about whether or not to raise a family."

"We're immortal," Hungary said, looking at America. "Do you have any idea how much pain a nation goes through when they take in human children?"

"I'm not a nation any more," Prussia said, holding onto the kid. "I'm not going to outlive him."

America patted Prussia on the shoulder.

"We'll look after him when you're gone," America said, and Prussia had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the rise of pain and relief in his chest as he understood what that meant. "And his kids, and his kids' kids."

Silence fell over the group, and America looked around the table.

"Why the long faces?" America asked. "Look, nobody can plan on living forever. You may all think that I act like I do, but I just don't plan on wasting any of the time that I've got. So cheer up, okay? What's the kid's name?"

"Friedrich," Prussia said, shutting his eyes tight and burying his face in the kid's hair. "The third."

"Freddy for short, then?" America asked, squeezing Prussia's shoulder. "That's a good name for a kid!"

Prussia avoided Hungary's knowing look and grinned at America.

"Papa?" Freddy asked. America beamed at Prussia.

"You're going to be an absolutely amazing dad," America said, giving him a thumbs up. "And if anybody gives you any guff, I'll start a trade embargo against them until they cut it out!"

After the meeting, Prussia stood around France's hotel room, trying to smooth a cowlick that was developing on the back of Freddy's head. France smiled at him, a glass of wine in hand.

"He's darling, Prussia," France said. "Why, with that errant hair, he nearly reminds me of Canada when he was young!"

"Romano had a curl, too," Spain chipped in, sitting backwards on a chair and smiling dreamily into space as he remembered. "Do you remember when his cheeks were as chubby and red as ripe tomatoes? ¡Dios mío! He was so cute at that age!"

"He was never as cute as Canada," France sniffed, taking a sip of his wine. "Canada was always very polite and well behaved."

"Romano had spunk, at least," Spain shrugged. "He wasn't a meek little mouse."

"Do you remember West at his age?" Prussia interjected, a wide grin on his face. "He wanted to learn how to paint, but he kept running out of paper?"

"He painted on your back!" France said, laughing suddenly. "Yes, yes, of course! How could I forget? But of course he was somewhat older."

"What nation is actually born like a baby?" Prussia shrugged. His friends nodded, and Prussia adjusted his grip on Freddy, flexing his aching hand as he sat down. The human-feeling was seeping up from his legs and into his lower back; he was too tired to keep standing, even though it'd hardly been half an hour since they'd arrived. France noticed his expression and narrowed his eyes, but Spain spoke first.

"I know that you'll be a good father, mi amigo," Spain said slowly, smiling up at Prussia. "And I think it's a very good idea to let the boy learn all of our languages from a young age. I look forward to teaching him Spanish. Hopefully he'll pick it up better than Romano did." Spain laughed, and France sat sideways on the loveseat, draping his legs over one of the arms.

"I think that there is something you have been keeping from us, mon ami," France said, looking carefully at Prussia. "Something that I think perhaps your brother knows."

"We knew it would happen," Prussia said, forcing himself to smile. France's narrowed eyes went wide, and even Spain's cheerful expression dimmed.

"I'm not sure that I can remember to call you Gilbert," Spain said, and Prussia appreciated the smile, but Freddy seemed to recognize the sudden tension in the room and suddenly grew wary.

"Up!" Freddy said, pointing into the air. "Up, Papa!"

"If you're tired, I can play with him," Spain said. Prussia shook his head.

"It's getting to be time for his nap, anyway," Prussia said, glancing at the clock. The meeting had let out at two, and it was drawing closer and closer to three.

"That was one point that Romano never argued," Spain grinned. "Oh, he'd say, 'I'm not sleepy, you—'" Prussia gave him a pointed look, and Spain put up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "But in the end, he would always take the nap. He just liked to curse, I think. And to complain."

"I've got to get back home so he can sleep in his own bed," Prussia said, getting to his feet. His legs felt dangerously weak for a moment before the feeling faded and he steadied himself, putting Freddy on his shoulders. "I'll see you guys the day after tomorrow, then?"

"Why not tomorrow?" France pouted. "I'll be in town all week, but I can't promise to stay any longer than that!"

"Tomorrow is Freddy and the Awesome Me Day," Prussia said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "We're going to have the most awesome day."

France sniffed with disdain, but Prussia caught the grin in his eyes.

"You always paid Germany too much attention," France sighed.

"That's why he still calls me 'brother,'" Prussia laughed. "What do Lovino and Mattie call you two?"

France rolled his eyes and Spain laughed.

"I think he has a point," Spain said. "Just don't spoil him like I did with Romano."

"Also, it occurs to me that you refer to Canada as 'Mattie,' which is entirely unconscionable," France said. "I won't accept it."

"Not your little brother any more, Francis," Prussia smirked. "Anyway, I'll see you both in a couple of days. If you show up tomorrow, I'll just have to deck you when Freddy's not watching."

Spain chuckled again and waved.

"Good night, little one," Spain called. "Listen to your papa! He's a good man."

"And he was once a great nation," France whispered. Prussia winced at the words and tried to turn the expression into a grin as he left, his shoulders already growing weak with human-feeling as he carried Freddy to the door.

"You forgot awesome," Prussia laughed, and then shut the door behind himself.

"Awesome!" crowed Freddy. Prussia was so startled that he nearly dropped him, but caught himself and lowered Freddy to look into his face.

"What was that?" Prussia asked, blinking at him.

"Awesome!" Freddy said, grabbing Prussia's face and grinning. "Awesome papa!"

Prussia felt the weakness and exhaustion leave him.

"You're awesome, too, Freddy," Prussia said, kissing Freddy's forehead. "I love you."

"Papa," Freddy said, pulling on the sleeve of Prussia's pajamas. "Papa Day! Papa Day!"

"Good morning to you, too, kiddo," Prussia yawned, rubbing his eyes. Freddy mimicked him, exaggeratedly rubbing his own eyes, and Prussia laughed. "That's right! It's Papa and Me Day!"

"Papa Day!" Freddy crowed, throwing his hands in the air in excitement. Prussia glanced at the clock: 5:03am. "Morning, Papa!"

"Just barely," Prussia grinned, knowing that Germany would already be awake and making breakfast, even at this hour. "What do you want to do today, Freddy?"

"Up!" Freddy said, holding out his arms. He jumped up and down on the bed, just once. "Fly!"

"You're picking up some new words, aren't ya?" Prussia said, laughing. "Sure! You can fly!" Prussia rolled out of bed and stooped down, letting Freddy clamor onto his shoulders. "Do you want to fly to breakfast? Are you hungry?"

"Yes!" Freddy insisted, tugging gently on Prussia's hair; he knew better than to yank on it. "Hun—hungy!"

"Hungry!" Prussia repeated for him, swaying to his feet.

"Hungry?" Freddy asked, and Prussia grinned.

"Yep. I'm hungry, too, kiddo," Prussia said, heading for the door. "I'm going to have to teach you more words today!"

"Nom," Freddy said. Prussia cracked up, pulling open the door.

"That's the last time that I let Mattie feed you," Prussia laughed. "'Om nom nom! Down the hatch, eh!'" Prussia said, switching to English and effecting his best Canadian accent. "I love you, Freddy. Today is going to be an awesome Papa and Me Day."

"Awesome!" Freddy chirped. Prussia navigated the hallway in the dark, keeping one hand against the wall. A rectangle of light shone on the floor, highlighting the entrance to the kitchen. Germany was packing a box lunch for himself at the counter, but turned as Prussia came into the room, blinking in the sudden light.

"Good morning," Germany said, raising his eyebrows.

"Morning!" Freddy said, clearly proud of his new word. Germany set down the knife he'd been using and smiled—just a little, just enough that Freddy started bouncing. "Papa Day!" Freddy announced. "Awesome! Nom nom!"

Germany looked to Prussia for a translation, and Prussia laughed.

"He's saying that it's Papa and Me Day, and that he's going to have an awesome breakfast now," Prussia said, kneeling to let Freddy hop off. "Oh, and he said good morning."

"He wasn't this chatty yesterday," Germany said, looking surprised. "He's hardly been talking at all."

"I think that being around the other nations opened him up a bit," Prussia said, getting up and ruffling Freddy's hair. Freddy beamed. "Mein Gott, I love you!" Prussia said, throwing his arms around Freddy, who laughed and hugged Prussia back. Prussia stood again, Freddy still in his arms. Germany was turning away, but Prussia noticed the pain in his eyes.

"Do you remember our Brother and the Awesome Me Days?" Prussia asked, reaching toward the drawer that had the spatula. Germany swallowed hard.

"Of course," Germany answered, and Prussia paused, his hand hovering in front of the drawer. Germany's voice had cracked. "You would take me on walks and buy me paint," Germany continued, and Prussia could tell that he was trying to sound gruff. Suddenly, though, Germany's voice grew gentle and soft. "You were a very good big brother."

Prussia opened the drawer and fished out the spatula. He knew Mattie's pancake recipe by heart, even though Mattie always made it tastier than he could.

"I'm glad," Prussia said, trying to bring himself to laugh, but his throat was a little too constricted to manage it. "You've always been the most awesome little brother, West."

"Awesome West!" Freddy said brightly, taking the spatula from Prussia and waving it with one hand toward Germany, even though it was clearly a little heavy for him. "Awesome Papa!" Freddy laughed, pointing the spatula up at Prussia. "Awesome me!" he cheered, swinging the spatula around. The tension in the room broke—Prussia guffawed, and even Germany chuckled, though Prussia noticed a tear or two at the corner of his eyes.

"He's certainly your son," Germany said, a small smile on his face as he surveyed the two of them. "I must walk the dogs before today's meeting," Germany said, suddenly serious again. "Have a good Papa and Me Day, Friedrich," he said warmly. "And you, as well, Brother."

Prussia grinned back at him.

"You bet we will!" Prussia said, clapping Germany on the shoulder with his free hand. "Kick their a—" Prussia glanced at Freddy and coughed. "Kick their butts at the meeting today, bro. They need someone to keep them in line."

Germany nodded, then whistled for the dogs.

"Aster, bring your leash," Germany barked out. Aster and the others arrived, each bearing their own leash. Germany carefully clipped each leash to the appropriate collar—Prussia noticed that the leashes matched the collars, and that Germany methodically checked each one to be sure it fit properly and didn't falter.

"See you!" Prussia said, waving as Germany got the dogs to the door. Freddy waved, too.

"See you!" Freddy said, mimicking Prussia. "Awesome West!"

Prussia just barely caught Germany's smile before Germany raised a hand in parting and took the dogs outside.

"Nom nom?" Freddy asked, and Prussia nodded, shifting Freddy to his other hip.

"Right away, Freddy!" Prussia said, grinning brightly as he got out the ingredients for Mattie's awesome pancakes. The sun had just begun to peek over the horizon, but Prussia was totally confident that it was going to be a great Papa and Me Day.

It was bright and sunny outside—a perfect day for mid-April. It was still lingering at around forty degrees, though, so he bundled Freddy up for the day. Freddy's blue eyes peeked out from under his hat, reminding Prussia suddenly of Germany at his age. Prussia shook his head.

"Up?" Prussia asked, but Freddy shook his head and grabbed Prussia's hand.

Together they strolled down the street. Their house was out in the country; the dogs and Germany could all get enough exercise running around the fields, but the dirt road was wearing Freddy out. Even so, he stubbornly kept walking alongside Prussia, sometimes standing on tiptoe to try to see over the next hill.

"Not too much farther," Prussia said. He'd built a playground for the farm kids in the area a while back; it was Freddy's first visit to it. Freddy stumbled, and Prussia offered him his other hand. "Up?"

This time, Freddy nodded.

"Fly!" Freddy said, throwing his arms outward. "Papa, fly!"

"Gotcha!" Prussia said, stooping down to let Freddy clamor up onto his shoulders. "Away we go!" Prussia shouted, leaping forward. "Hang on tight!"

Freddy shrieked with delight as Prussia raced over the hill.

"Faster, Papa!" Freddy begged, and Prussia strained, remembering times when he'd nearly flown, his legs had carried him so quickly—but the human-feeling was growing familiar to him, and he knew in his heart that he'd never run that fast again. "Faster, Papa!" Freddy pleaded again, and Prussia found it in him to run a little harder, a little faster, even though his lungs burned and ached for lack of oxygen. "Love you, Papa!" Freddy shrieked, and Prussia felt his heart skip a beat—he whooped, leaping into the air as he came over the final hill, and Freddy laughed so hard that he nearly let go.

Prussia slowly came to a halt, his body screaming at him. He dropped to his knees and let Freddy slide off of his back before pulling him in for a hug, kissing his forehead.

"Love you, too, Freddy," Prussia panted, ruffling Freddy's hair. Freddy kissed Prussia's forehead in return, clearly delighted.

"Love love love, Papa!" Freddy sang, jumping up and down. Prussia saw the playground anew as Freddy examined it—the monkey bars, the swing set, the seesaw, the jungle gym, the little merry-go-round that could be spun at alarming speeds—and suddenly he was grinning again.

"Swings," Prussia said, pointing at them.

"Swig?" Freddy asked.

"Swings," Prussia repeated carefully. Freddy nodded slowly.

"Swings," he said, drawing the word out. Prussia gave him a thumbs up and a high five, and suddenly Freddy was sprinting toward the swing set. "Swings!" Freddy shouted, grabbing one of the swings and rattling its chain. "Swings, Papa!"

"That's right!" Prussia jogged after him and set him in the little-kid swing, the one that he wouldn't fall out of. Freddy twisted around to look at Prussia, who quickly shoved the swing. Freddy gasped, then whooped.

"Swings!" he shouted at the sky.

"Do you want to go higher?" Prussia asked.

"Higher!" Freddy repeated, giggling. Prussia pushed the swing harder, even though his shoulders were stiff from carrying Freddy, and his legs were as weak as water. The human-feeling was pervasive, and yet—and yet it was kind of exhilarating to reach his limits, to push through them. To know that this was the only chance that he had to do things right. Was this how his people had felt every day of their lives? Prussia shoved the swing again, smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt—a sensation that was new and scary and maybe a little awesome. So happy that it hurt.

"Higher, Papa!" Freddy laughed, throwing his hands in the air. "Awesome papa!"

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be a human, after all.

Prussia flopped down onto the couch, using the arm as a pillow, exhaustion seeping deep down into his bones through the aching layers of muscle. Freddy curled up on Prussia's chest, just heavy enough to make it hard to breathe. Prussia was too tired to move him, so he patted the back of his head instead.

"Did you have fun, Freddy?" Prussia asked. Freddy nodded sleepily, digging his hands into Prussia's sweater. "I guess you need a nap, huh?"

Freddy grunted, and Prussia realized that Freddy was going to be too tuckered out to get himself to bed. Prussia closed his eyes for a moment, then gritted his teeth and hefted Freddy upward, staggering to his feet.

"Let's get you to bed, kiddo," Prussia smiled, ignoring the ache in his arms. He remembered a time that he'd marched on foot for days, carrying provisions and weapons and a bedroll on his back. The trek to the bedroom was longer and more tiring.

"Papa?" Freddy mumbled as Prussia changed him into his pajamas. Prussia recognized the request—Freddy needed to use the bathroom. Prussia sighed, then carried him there and made sure that he didn't fall off the toilet in his exhaustion, then cleaned him up and dressed him again in his pajamas. "Wanna fly," Freddy mumbled into Prussia's neck. A smile tugged at the corner of Prussia's lip. At the edge of the bed, Prussia stopped and took a moment to shore up his strength.

"Ready?" Prussia asked.

"Yeah!" Freddy said. "Fly!"

"Then away you go!" Prussia said, using the last of his energy to toss Freddy onto the bed. Freddy giggled sleepily, and Prussia glanced at the clock—three o'clock on the dot. "All set?" Prussia asked, collapsing onto and then sinking into the bedside easy chair as he tucked Freddy in. Freddy shook his head.

"Story," Freddy said softly. "Song."

New words were a powerful incentive; Prussia slouched onto the bed, pillowing his head on his arms.

"Once upon a time," Prussia began, looking over to meet Freddy's sleepy gaze, "there was an awesome little boy named Freddy."

"Awesome me," Freddy mumbled, smiling and closing his eyes. Prussia grinned.

"He was everyone's favorite," Prussia said, his own eyes slipping closed. He yawned, and Freddy yawned back. "Everybody in the whole world loved him."

Freddy grunted again, and Prussia knew what he was saying: what did he do?

"Freddy could swing as high as the sky and run eighty million times around the playground," Prussia continued. "He could talk and run like a pro. So one day, he decided he was going to..." Prussia trailed off, realizing dimly that he was drooling on his own arm. Freddy made an inquisitive sound and he started again. "He was going to save the world," Prussia said, then added, "From England's fish and chips."

"Yuck," Freddy said. Prussia laughed; he'd mentioned English food before.

"So Freddy made a huuuge batch of his very best pancakes," Prussia said. "He made enough for everyone in the whole world to eat some. So everybody lived happily ever after. The end."

"Song," Freddy mumbled. Prussia laughed.

"Okay, okay," Prussia said. He thought he heard a creak in the hallway, but chalked it up to the house settling. He cleared his throat. "Hush little Freddy, don't say a word," Prussia began, a bit disappointed that there was so little energy and volume in his voice. A glance at Freddy indicated that it was all right, though, so he closed his eyes and continued, trying to remember how the song went. "Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird won't sing, Papa's gonna go and make you king." The exhaustion seeped into his muscles again as the human-feeling spread; his fingers fell asleep. Was that the right line? "And if the job gets kind of lame, Papa's gonna find you a real nice dame." Yeah, that wasn't right. Prussia frowned. "Uh, and if you want to fly away, Papa's gonna take you to Pompei." Wait, they'd rebuilt Pompei, right? Shoot. Prussia tried to push himself up and found that he couldn't. Ah well. Time to wrap it up. "But if you're ever feeling blue, just remember that I love you."

Prussia listened to Freddy's low, even breathing as he drifted off to sleep himself. He was just barely awake when someone gently draped a blanket over his shoulders.

"Finally got to hear the end of the song, huh, West?" Prussia murmured, grinning. Germany froze, and Prussia chuckled softly. "Don't worry," Prussia mumbled. "You're still my favorite little brother."

If Germany replied, Prussia didn't hear it; he was out like a light.

Prussia awoke to the smell of pasta cooking in the kitchen. Freddy was blinking sleepily, not quite awake enough to sit up; Prussia tried to push himself up, and his muscles ached. He twisted to crack his back, which relieved some of the pain. The human-feeling was almost overwhelming; he'd never woken up so exhausted and sore, not during any of the wars he'd fought in, not after any previous Papa and Me Day.

"I'm getting old," Prussia chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Freddy's hair. Freddy butted his head against Prussia's hand, cat-like, and Prussia grinned. "It smells like Feli's making us dinner tonight, Freddy."

"Mmmm," Freddy managed, his eyes slipping closed. Prussia glanced at the clock; 6:00pm glowed on the screen. Prussia nudged Freddy again.

"You've gotta eat," Prussia said, pushing himself up and then easing himself onto the bed. His muscles groaned. "Come on, kiddo. You love pasta." And Italian, he thought to himself. He'd been encouraging the other nations to speak to Freddy in their native languages, and he seemed to be picking up on it, even though he hadn't said much other than nom in anything other than German.

Freddy frowned and grunted, pulling away from Prussia to bury his face in his pillow. Prussia grinned; Germany had never behaved like a proper kid—he'd gotten up on time even on the weekends when he had nothing in particular to do. Prussia crouched over Freddy, looking down at him.

"It's time to eat, Freddy," he tried. Freddy just groaned, squirming further under the covers. "Food," Prussia tried. No effect. He chuckled, then leaned down and snatched up Freddy's arm, nibbling on it while saying, "Om nom nom!"

Freddy shrieked with laughter at once, wriggling out from under the covers.

"Papa!" he said, a bit plaintively. Prussia nibbled his fingers, and Freddy retaliated by biting Prussia's arm—hard. Prussia yelped, releasing Freddy, then cracked up. Freddy grinned and grabbed Prussia's arm, gnawing on it a little more gently. "Om nom nom!" Freddy shouted between bites. Prussia laughed until tears filled his eyes—it tickled even though it hurt.

"Let go," Prussia said, tapping Freddy's forehead. But Freddy just laughed and kept at it, slobbering as badly as any of the dogs. "Cut it out, Freddy," Prussia said, a little more seriously, and Freddy hesitated, looking up at him.

"Om nom?" Freddy asked, a little confused. Prussia knew what he was really saying—that it had been Prussia's game in the first place. Of course the kid wouldn't know how hard to bite.

"Bite a little gentler if you're playing, okay?" Prussia said, turning around to let Freddy crawl onto his shoulders. Instead, Freddy dropped down off the side of the bed, rocked unsteadily on his feet for just a moment, and then smiled at Prussia, tugging on his shirt.

"Nom nom, Papa," Freddy said, pointing toward the door. Prussia caught the scent of garlic bread from down the hall, and Prussia's stomach growled. They'd eaten a sack lunch at the playground, but that had been hours ago. Prussia got to his feet, cracking his neck to ease the ache a little.

"I can carry you, you know," Prussia said, offering his hand to Freddy. Freddy took his hand but shook his head.

"Walk," Freddy said. Prussia smiled a little as they started off toward the door.

"I like to walk," Prussia agreed. "You sure you don't want to fly?"

"No fly," Freddy said. He'd learned the word no earlier in the day, when Prussia had told him he wasn't allowed to have any beer yet. Prussia nodded understandingly.

"No flying, then," Prussia said. He reached to open the door, but Freddy batted his hand away and opened it himself, then looked up at Prussia for reassurance. Prussia patted Freddy's hair. "You're a world class door opener, Freddy."

Freddy beamed, strutting down the hallway toward the kitchen, where he'd eaten most of his meals. They caught a glimpse of Italy carrying a bowl into the dining room, where Prussia could hear the low rumble of Germany's voice.

"Hey, Feli!" Prussia called. "Hey, West!"

Italy stuck his head back into the kitchen, grinning widely.

"Ciao!" Italy called, wiping his hands off on his apron. Prussia was relieved to hear him respond to German in Italian; he'd bet a bowl of Italy's pasta that Germany had discussed the matter of Freddy's language acquisition with Italy while Prussia and Freddy had been napping. "Ah, Freddy!" Italy said, stooping down to look Freddy in the eye. "I've heard that you enjoy siestas!"

Freddy frowned for a moment, and Prussia was sure that he'd been caught off guard by the different language.

"He never misses a siesta," Prussia said, hoping to jog Freddy's memory—he'd referred to Freddy's naps as both siesta and nap interchangeably. Freddy nodded with recognition, but drew a little closer to Prussia. "Is that a dinner for you and West?"

"Papa Day," Freddy insisted.

"Today is Papa and Me Day," Prussia clarified as Italy looked up at him. "I'm all his for the day."

Italy's smile dimmed a little, slight creases forming on his brow.

"Well, Germany and I had meant to eat together, but when I saw how sleepy you were, I just increased all the portions," Italy explained. "But you don't have to join us."

"Do you want to eat with them, Freddy?" Prussia asked, stooping down so that all three of them were the same height despite the throbbing in his legs. Freddy looked over at the table, which was covered with foods that Freddy loved—Italy had been over for dinner five or six times in the two weeks since Prussia and Freddy had arrived.

"Nom," Freddy said conclusively. Italy smiled.

"I see that..." Italy trailed off, having forgotten Canada's name—Prussia could forgive him, though. Prussia himself had only been able to remember Canada after he'd begun turning into a human. "Well, it's good for him to meet lots of people! He's a beautiful little boy. I wore dresses at his age."

Prussia grinned, getting to his feet as Freddy looked impatiently at the dinner table. He swallowed his groan, though—no need to worry anyone with his aches and pains. Italy got up easily, and they headed to the table.

"Well, so did Al and Mattie," Prussia said. "A hundred years ago, most toddlers wore dresses, didn't they?"

Freddy grabbed his booster seat before Prussia did, carefully setting it at the chair he'd chosen on his first day in the house, when Italy had thrown a similar feast in his honor. Prussia sat at the head of the table, right next to Freddy, and Italy and Germany sat across from each other at the other end of the table.

"You should thank Italy for the food," Prussia said.

"Danke," Freddy said, turning to Italy. Prussia was suddenly keenly aware of their habit of speaking German in the house; it made Prussia consider for a moment the idea that he and Germany should try speaking different languages, so Freddy wasn't spending almost all of his time speaking German. Italy smiled at Freddy.

"Prego," Italy replied. Freddy frowned, looking up at Prussia.

"That means you're welcome," Prussia said. "Why don't you tell him grazie for the food. That means thank you in Italian."

Freddy bit his lip, then turned back to Italy.

"Grazie," he said, a little timidly. Italy beamed.

"You're welcome," Italy said, speaking in rapid, exuberant Italian. "Oh, he's such a smart little boy! You must be so proud, Gilbert!" Prussia smiled at the name; he'd only managed to convince Italy, America, and Canada to call him by name thus far.

"I am proud," Prussia said, ruffling Freddy's hair affectionately. Freddy grinned. "Now, can we eat?" Freddy was waiting patiently. Italy leapt to his feet to serve the rest of them.

"Of course!" he said, smiling brightly. "I was thinking that we might have Japan over next time. He's been overworking himself again."

"It'd be great to see him," Prussia said, knowing that Germany missed having Japan around. "Why not bring your brother, too?"

Italy hesitated slightly, resting the ladle just over Germany's bowl. Freddy stared hungrily at his food, waiting for the signal to eat.

"Go on," Italy said, and Freddy seemed to remember this as a cue to eat; he started eating with gusto. Italy smiled for a moment, then returned to serving Germany his pasta. "I think that Romano is afraid to see you," Italy said, a little quietly.

"Why?" Prussia asked around a mouthful of pasta.

"People already call me Italy," Italy said, filling his own plate last before sitting down to eat.

Prussia didn't know how to reply to that—the implications made him nervous. It was true that Romano was generally ignored, and, when most nations thought of Italy, they thought of Feli. Prussia swallowed. He'd been able to assume the role of East Germany for a while, but it hadn't stuck. Was Romano at risk, too?

Prussia chewed thoughtfully on the pasta. He'd never gotten along too well with Romano, thanks to Romano's prickly personality. Spain had also jealously guarded him even while bragging about him to anyone who would listen, especially to his best friends—and Romano had remembered Prussia as Spain's friend, France's friend.

"I think that there's a strong South Italian identity," Prussia said finally, aware that he'd taken too long to respond. Italy appreciated the gesture, though—he smiled brightly and started up a conversation to take their minds off things. Or maybe to take his own mind off of things.

Freddy was much better at eating pasta than he had been that first night, but he was still getting messy. Prussia wiped his cheeks with a napkin and laughed as Italy told a few anecdotes from his childhood. Italy avoided mentioning the Holy Roman Empire directly, for which Prussia was grateful. Freddy seemed to be getting the gist of the stories, or at least their tone; it was good to see him laughing with the rest of them.

Prussia was also unsure how to tell Italy that he'd found Germany on a battlefield, too injured to be recognizable, having lost all of his memories of a time before that. Prussia had raised him, even after realizing, some months in, that little Germany was surely the missing Holy Roman Empire.

He hadn't been able to give him back.

Freddy was nodding off in his pasta. Prussia roused him, then turned back to Italy and Germany.

"Thanks for the dinner, Feli!" Prussia said brightly. "We could have a whole party here before that conference finishes—you two can decide who to invite."

Prussia pulled Freddy onto his lap and smiled as Freddy nodded off, slumping onto Prussia's chest.

"Grazie, Feli," Freddy mumbled.

"Prego, Freddy" Italy said, his voice tender and happy. "Oh, he's a beautiful little boy, Gilbert. Just beautiful." Italy tilted his head to one side for a moment, pondering something. "When's his birthday?"

"No idea," Prussia answered. "I was thinking of choosing some day in the spring."

"Well, tomorrow is April thirteenth," Italy mused. "It's as good a day as any, isn't it?"

"I'm not ready for Freddy to be three quite so soon," Prussia laughed, but his heart constricted.

"The doctors think he was born in the spring," Germany said. "Probably around now, if I'm not mistaken."

"Wednesday's child is full of woe," Prussia said, switching to English. Germany stared at him for a moment, and Prussia remembered to laugh; it was awkward and a little forced.

"As I recall, April 13, 2008 was a Thursday," Germany said mildly.

"You would know that, wouldn't you," Prussia sighed, adjusting the sleeping Freddy in his arms. "Thursday's child has far to go."

"He's going places, that one," Germany said, a little softly. "He'll need a birthday, brother."

Prussia looked down at Freddy. It was true that he wasn't as small or skinny as he'd been when Prussia had found him; he looked older and healthier.

"I found him on December twenty-seventh," Prussia said. "I haven't even had him for four months yet." There was a long pause, and Prussia felt something in him give. "How about Saturday, then? The sixteenth?"

"The child that is born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe and good and gay," Germany quoted, meeting Prussia's gaze. "As I recall, the birthday you gave me was a Sunday, too."

"Coincidence," Prussia muttered. "The poem didn't exist then, and your birthday is different now, anyway."

"Saturday it is!" Italy said, clapping his hands and startling Freddy awake. Prussia rocked him to soothe him as Italy continued. "I'll have to let France make his cake. Spain will probably bring some tomatoes..." Italy trailed off, tapping a finger against his lip. He suddenly seemed to remember that he had been talking. "I'll work on the guest list and dinner preparations, okay?" Italy asked, and Prussia nodded. "Can we have the party at my place?" Italy asked. "You said that he liked it there when you were traveling."

"Sure," Prussia said. "West can drive us."

Nations had a funny habit of covering more ground than was physically possible when they were traveling; Prussia had only noticed it once the ability had left him.

"All right," Italy said, grinning again. "I'll throw Freddy the best party!"

"Good night, brother," Germany said, not quite smiling.

"Night, West," Prussia smiled. "Night, Feli."

"Good night!" Italy said. "Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite!"

Prussia chuckled and carried Freddy—who had at some point drifted back off to sleep—to bed, humming a lullaby under his breath.

"Papa, wake up!" Freddy said, nudging Prussia. Prussia blinked into the darkness of the room; the only light came from the clock, which told him that it was 4:03am. An hour earlier than Papa and Me Day. Prussia yawned, pulling Freddy in for a hug.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Prussia mumbled. Freddy buried his face into Prussia's chest.

"No," Freddy answered. Prussia had to grin. Freddy had spent all of the previous day learning words with Germany; it was like the floodgates had burst. It felt strange and magical to be having a conversation with his son. Prussia nuzzled the top of Freddy's head, trying not to fall back asleep.

"Then what's the matter?" Prussia asked. Freddy wriggled, and Prussia pulled back to look at him—he was beaming.

"Me Day!" Freddy said delightedly. "Me Day, Me Day!"

Prussia's heart stuttered, clenching around the idea of a birthday. He hadn't had a year to brace himself for it—he wasn't sure that a year would have helped. He managed to smile, though.

"That's right!" Prussia said, sleep still thick in his voice. "It's your birthday, Freddy!"

Freddy grinned so wide that something in Prussia gave way; he couldn't keep dwelling on the fact that three was one year closer to adulthood than two.

"Me Day," Freddy sighed happily. Italy had been getting him worked up about the party ever since he'd mentioned it; half the world had been invited. "Awesome," Freddy said, lying down on his back and reaching up at the ceiling. "Awesome Me Day."

"Atta boy," Prussia said, grinning with pride. "Too excited to sleep?"

Freddy nodded, and Prussia chuckled softly.

"What do you want to do?" Prussia asked, petting Freddy's hair. "You're the birthday boy, so it's up to you."

"Nom," Freddy said, nibbling on Prussia's outstretched fingers.

"That's going to stick forever," Prussia groaned, pushing himself up with his free hand. "Come on, Freddy. Let's go get you something to spoil your appetite."

"Nom?" Freddy asked, taking Prussia's fingers out of his mouth. Prussia couldn't help but chuckle. He took back his fingers and sat all the way up, twisting to drape his legs over the side of the bed. Freddy had been up until midnight in his excitement, begging for stories about the birthdays of all the people he'd met. At the time, it'd made Prussia realize that Freddy didn't have any friends his own age, or even any who were human. Now, it just made Prussia's head ache with exhaustion.

"Yes, Freddy, nom," Prussia said, trying to keep his energy up. "You want up?"

"Yeah!" Freddy said, leaping to his feet and wrapping his arms around Prussia's shoulders. Prussia scooted off of the bed to let Freddy clamor onto his shoulders, and he staggered to his feet, swaying in a way that made Prussia want to curse and made Freddy giggle madly. Prussia held a finger to his lips.

"West is sleeping," Prussia said softly. Freddy nodded, quieting, and they slipped out the door, padding down the dark hall as silently as Prussia could manage. He was surprised to see the light on in the kitchen; he shared a look with Freddy, who seemed mostly curious, and then walked through the doorway to see Japan, Italy, Romano, and Germany all working together. For an instant, Freddy and Prussia had the same thought—they shared another look: two identical, mischievous grins. Prussia held out three fingers, two fingers, one finger, pointed—

"Hallo!" Freddy and Prussia chorused. Germany nearly sliced his thumb open, Romano's curl tied itself into a knot, Japan whipped around and stumbled back into the counter, and Italy turned, dusted his hands off, and grinned.

"Buongiorno!" Italy said brightly, replying easily in Italian, "You're up early!"

"Me Day!" Freddy said excitedly. "Bir—" Freddy hesitated, frowning and looking up as he thought. "Birthday?"

Italy applauded, and Freddy looked delighted. Romano seemed to be remembering how to breathe, and Japan was trying to act as though he hadn't been startled; Germany was looking up at Freddy, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip, where no one other than Prussia might have recognized it.

"You're all up early," Prussia said, trying to match Italy and Freddy's tone. "What're you making?"

"Food," Romano said shortly. "Until you stopped us, you b—" Italy clapped a hand over Romano's mouth, and he looked flabbergasted; Italy smiled apologetically at Prussia and Freddy.

"Freddy?" Italy said. Freddy looked at Italy expectantly. "Don't ever repeat the words that you hear Romano say," he said, inclining his head toward his brother. "Do you understand?"

Freddy nodded slowly, and Italy released Romano, who had turned as red as a tomato in his indignation. As he turned back to the counter, he muttered a constant, quiet string of curses under his breath. It wasn't only in Italian—he seemed to be listing every expletive that he knew. He seemed to calm down as he got through the list, as he rolled out the pasta by hand.

"Ohayou gozaimasu, Puroisen-san," Japan said, and it took Prussia a moment to remember Japanese. A moment long enough that his confusion worried him. Maybe it was just too early in the morning. When Japan had bowed and looked up again to address Freddy, he could understand him again. "Good morning, Freddy-kun."

Freddy tugged at Prussia's ear, and Prussia stooped to let him slide off of his back, suddenly aware that he was only wearing his nightclothes. Freddy went up to Japan and tugged on his apron.

"Freddy," Freddy said, pointing at himself. It seemed to be a question.

"Ah, yes, introductions are in order," Japan said to himself, setting down the rice ball that he'd been making. "I am Japan," Japan stated clearly. Prussia gave him a look, and he amended, "You can call me Kiku."

"Why are you speaking so formally to him, Japan?" Italy asked, looking up from scrubbing a potato in the sink. Romano regarded the potato with contempt as his brother spoke, but turned back to the pasta as his brother glanced at him. He began the string of rapid-fire curses again, or Prussia at least heard a few repeats.

"Better that he go to Japan and speak too politely than be rude," Japan said, not looking at Italy. "Do you understand, Freddy-kun?"

"Freddy," Freddy repeated, frowning.

"There's no rrrr in Japanese," Prussia said, squatting beside them both. Freddy tilted his head to one side, still displeased. "This is Kiku," Prussia said, gesturing toward him. "He—"

"Me Day," Freddy said quietly, looking down at his feet.

"Can you call him Freddy even when you're speaking Japanese?" Prussia asked, looking sidelong at Japan. "Just for today."

"Certainly," Japan said. "Freddy?" he asked, his pronunciation flawlessly matching Prussia's, and Freddy looked up, hopeful. "It is nice to meet you, Freddy," Japan said, the shift in pronunciation awkward to those who were familiar with Japan. Freddy beamed and threw his arms around Japan.

"Kiku!" he crowed. Japan's arms hung awkwardly in the air; he seemed not to know what to do with himself. Prussia gently guided Japan's arms down to hold Freddy. Prussia glanced up at Romano.

"You want to meet him, too?" Prussia asked. Romano turned away, looking at the pasta dough.

"I'm not even supposed to talk to the—" Romano hesitated, looking at the warning eyes all around him before coughing and going red again. "If I can't talk to him, then why should I?"

"You can talk to him," Prussia said, glancing back to see Freddy bury his nose in Japan's neck. "You might even not hate him."

Romano glared at Prussia, who knew better than to grin back; Spain had irked Romano by never seeming to take his fear and anger seriously. Prussia settled for a serious expression and a gesture toward Freddy. Romano wavered.

Freddy pulled away from Japan—much to Japan's relief—to look up at the rest of the adults. He frowned up at Romano, the only one that he didn't know. Romano glared at Freddy reflexively, and Freddy winced backward, as though he'd be struck. Prussia frowned, a new worry cluttering the back of his mind.

"It's okay," Prussia said, scooping Freddy up into his arms. "Romano glares at everyone. You can say hi."

Freddy looked nervous, but carefully approached Romano when Prussia set him back on the floor. He stopped a few feet from Romano and looked at the ground.

"Freddy," he said," pointing to himself. He looked up at Romano, half hopefully, half nervously. Romano stuck out his lower lip and didn't meet Freddy's eyes.

"Lovino," he said, gruffly holding out a hand. Freddy took his hand slowly, hesitating until he saw that Romano wasn't actually mad, then grinned.

"Lovino!" he said, rushing forward to hug Romano's knees. His accent was already passable in Italian. Prussia smiled, rocking back up to his feet. Japan had gotten out his camera and was snapping photos like mad.

Prussia looked down at Freddy as though seeing him for the first time. He remembered Freddy when they'd first met; a dirty, skinny little boy with dark blonde hair that'd been thick with filth and blue eyes that'd been full of fear. Now Freddy was fit, without any of his bones showing and no more gaunt lines on his cheeks; Freddy's hair was soft and clean, even though it was messy; Freddy was grinning and trusting and happy. Looking at Freddy's profile, Prussia suddenly recognized what he hadn't wanted to see—what he'd taken for a slightly hooked nose was, in fact, a once-broken nose. Prussia let out his breath slowly, letting Freddy's excitement fill him.

Maybe it was time for a birthday, after all.

Freddy loved the car ride to Italy's house; he pressed his nose against the window and hummed loudly along with the classical music that Germany played to calm himself while driving. Japan sat in the front seat; Italy was driving himself and Romano back, and Japan had once—and only once—let Italy drive him anywhere.

Freddy darted out the door as soon as they arrived; Italy's house was warm and welcoming. Japan took off his shoes in the entryway, and Freddy copied him, so they all took off their shoes to lounge around the sitting room. Prussia was sure that he heard France in the kitchen, but, before he could investigate, Spain waltzed into the room, singing in Spanish in a low, happy voice. When he saw Freddy, he beamed.

"¡Feliz cumpleaños!" Spain sang, stooping down to pick Freddy up and twirl him around. "¿Cómo estás?"

No one was more surprised than Prussia when Freddy replied, "¡Muy bien, gracias! ¿Y tu?"

Spain was ecstatic, almost beyond words—he tossed Freddy in the air and laughed, babbling in rapid-fire Spanish.

"Did you hear him, Lovi?" Spain called, still speaking in Spanish, hugging Freddy and kissing his forehead. "He's picking it up better than you did!"

"Shut up!" Romano huffed, slouching against the wall. The curses that followed the sentence were conscientiously muttered under his breath before he continued at a normal volume in Italian. "I didn't want to learn your—" he caught himself as he opened his mouth to curse, looked at Freddy's smile, and swallowed. "Whatever. I don't care."

Spain opened his mouth to reply, but Japan was fastening his apron, and Italy held up his hand for attention.

"All chefs to the kitchen!" Italy called, glancing over at Japan and winking. "I'll be in to check on you," Italy continued, glancing at Germany. "Make sure that Freddy waits to open his presents until after dinner, so we can all watch!"

Prussia yawned, sinking into a chair as he nodded. He heard France's distinctive laugh in the kitchen, and knew that it was going to be a great party. If only he could wake up properly.

"Happy birthday!" America sang, striding through the door as Canada held it open for him. Freddy grinned, leaping off his chair to go greet them both. America held a cake aloft—Prussia grinned, himself, as he imagined France's disdain for the extremely colorful confection. Canada had an armful of presents, half with America's stars and stripes, and the other half covered in maple leaves. He was smiling nervously. Prussia stood to greet them, too; Freddy got there first, grabbing both of their legs and squeezing tight.

"Mattie!" he said loudly. "Uncle Al! Happy birthday!"

He'd learned that one quickly, although he hadn't figured out that the birthday boy wasn't supposed to say it himself. Alfred laughed loudly, nearly dropping the cake as he reached down to mess up Freddy's hair. Freddy's hair had been growing, Prussia noticed suddenly—it had been military length when Prussia had found him, but now it was curling at the nape of his neck.

"Let me take those for you," Prussia said, walking over to Canada. Canada smiled gratefully, handing the packages to Prussia without tripping over Freddy.

"Thanks," Canada said softly. "Happy birthday, Friedrich," Canada said, turning to look down at Freddy, who beamed. He didn't like it when anyone other than Germany or Canada called him by his real name.

"Happy birthday, Mattie!" Freddy replied brightly, letting go of America to hold his arms up to Canada. Canada's smile grew, and he scooped Freddy up, dandling him on one hip. "Presents?" Freddy asked. Another birthday word. Canada rocked him toward Prussia, and Freddy saw the presents—his eyes lit up. Prussia wondered what it'd be like to be at knee height and not able to see what mysteries counters and tall adults held. Prussia was gradually waking up, but he seemed to be seeing newness everywhere he looked.

"You all right, Gilbert?" Canada asked quietly. America slapped Prussia on the back, laughing again.

"All right?" America scoffed. "Gil is awesome! This is gonna be one great party, you just mark my words."

Prussia smiled, trying not to look as tired as he felt as he turned to set the presents down on Italy's coffee table, where everyone else had left their gifts. France's pile was a mess of rose-printed gift wrap, while Spain's was papered with tomato red. Romano had left a small, unwrapped box on the table, saying that it didn't mean anything, and Italy had laughed. Prussia was sure that the big box underneath the table was from him.

"Are we late to the party?" America asked, snatching Freddy from Canada and holding him above his own head, flying him to the couch, where he flopped down and began to toss Freddy into the air. Prussia followed, Canada walking quietly by his side. No one seemed to notice Canada as they emerged from the entryway, even though Romano was looking right at the doorway. Germany was sitting awkwardly in a nearby chair, but he only looked at Prussia—his eyes slid right over Canada, unseeing. Prussia was struck with a sudden urge to throw his arm across Canada's shoulders and see whether the others still wouldn't be able to see him.

"Italy left to join France in the kitchen," Germany said. "He dragged Spain with him."

"Higher!" Freddy shrieked, "Higher, Uncle Al!"

Prussia felt a stab of envy in his chest, but he swallowed it. Canada noticed, though—he opened his mouth to speak, but Romano spoke up first.

"You're going to kill him, you idiot!" Romano snapped, storming over and snatching Freddy out of the air above America. Freddy laughed, snuggling up to Romano, who suddenly looked panicked. "Look, don't take this the—the—the wrong way or anything," Romano began, seeming to lose his train of thought as Freddy looked at him, tilting his head slightly to one side. "I mean—you're all right and all, but—" Romano looked around for help as Freddy buried his head in Romano's neck again.

"Lovino," Freddy said firmly. Romano clearly didn't know what to make of it. He awkwardly patted Freddy on the back.

"Okay, okay," Romano said, looking to one side. Prussia couldn't mistake the tell-tale blush he was trying to hide. "H-happy birthday, Freddy."

Freddy attached himself to Romano's hip in the course of the next hour or two; Prussia stood next to Canada in the corner, watching them both. Freddy was chattering excitedly in Italian while Germany, Japan, and America talked about science and engineering on the couch. Italy and Spain had yet to return from the kitchen, although France's laughter echoed down the hallway.

"You should take a nap," Canada said quietly, hands clasped awkwardly behind him. "You're dead on your feet."

"I'm not dead yet," Prussia mumbled back. Freddy yawned, and Prussia yawned in response. The human-feeling dug itself into his muscles, weighed down his eyelids, made him sway on his feet—he felt half-dead already, in a way that was different from anything he'd experienced as a nation. Even the exhaustion at the end of a war—the feeling of his people's weariness, the scorch of burned earth... Prussia jolted awake as Canada touched his shoulder.

"I'll keep an eye on Freddy," Canada insisted, squeezing Prussia's shoulder to steady him. "Romano's softer than he lets on. Freddy'll be fine, and I can wake you up when the food is ready."

"It's not even noon yet," Prussia muttered, blinking to clear his eyes. The world was blurring; Prussia pulled away from Canada and stretched, cracking his back. "I'm not missing Freddy's birthday."

Canada sighed and leaned back against the wall.

"You'll pass out at the table," Canada said, looking at the floor.

"Snap a picture," Prussia replied, grinning. "You can blackmail me later."

Canada snorted. "Romano's telling the story about when he first met Belgium," Canada said, a smile tugging at one corner of his lips. "He's not leaving out the embarrassing parts, either."

"Like when he begged for a kiss?" Prussia asked, tilting his right ear toward Romano and Freddy. Prussia frowned as he realized that he couldn't make out anything they were saying. "Lovino always skipped to the part where she kissed him when he told me that story."

Canada shrugged, then sighed. Prussia looked at him, but Canada's eyes were on Freddy.

"Go to sleep, Gilbert, please," Canada said, watching Freddy laugh. "I'm worried about you."

"Don't, Mattie," Prussia replied. "I'm fine, I told you. I'm probably good for another eighty years, right?"

Canada said nothing, and Prussia slumped against the wall. Canada's silence got under his skin.

"Papa!" Freddy called, looking around for Prussia and beaming when he caught his eye. He said something in fluid Italian—and Prussia's brain stuttered. Latin, Spanish, Portuguese, French—his brain tried to parse the Italian in half a dozen other languages before it registered. A headache hit him between the eyes, and Canada's hand was suddenly steadying him again.

"It's okay, Friedrich," Canada said easily—Prussia understood the English, although he didn't understand the Italian that Freddy replied in. He did, however, recognize the concern in Freddy's voice. "Papa just needs a little nap."

Prussia saw Freddy nodding, his eyebrows drawn up with worry. Romano looked all too knowing—his guard was down, and he wrapped an arm around Freddy's shoulder to take his attention off of Prussia. Prussia couldn't understand what Romano said next, but it sounded gruff and somehow reassuring. A glance at the couch confirmed that Germany, America, and Japan were totally wrapped up in their conversation; Canada's invisibility temporarily blanketed him, and Canada dragged him to the door—as always, stronger than he looked.

"I told you—" Prussia began, keeping his voice down. Canada leveled him with a glare that startled him enough that he forgot the rest of his sentence before he even thought to glare back.

"You are going to take a nap," Canada said, his voice low and fierce. Prussia tried to glare back, but his eyelids were too heavy, and he suspected that it was a futile effort. "I'm going to wake you up when it's time to eat. And you are going to stop worrying everyone around you, or, so help me, Gilbert, I will—" here Canada stammered, adjusted Prussia's weight on his shoulder, and marched resolutely forward. "I will cut off your pancake privileges!"

Romano watched Prussia go, getting the dim impression that someone was helping him walk—but his eyes slid right off the area to Prussia's right. He rubbed his eyes and turned back to Freddy, who'd gotten quiet.

"Your papa is a tough guy, okay?" Romano said, awkwardly patting Freddy's shoulder. "So—so stop making that face already."

"Okay," Freddy responded, although he still looked morose. Romano huffed. The kid had been so talkative and energetic until Prussia had gone and nearly passed out—what a wimp.

Even as he thought it, a quiet voice in the back of Romano's head whispered: He's really becoming human. And you might, too, someday—you might get worn out and—

Freddy touched the back of Romano's hand gently, and Romano met his gaze.

"Okay?" Freddy asked, and Romano felt his lip form into a pout against his will.

"I'm fine, kid," Romano said. His throat felt blocked up—his chest was tight with something he didn't understand and he wasn't sure whether he loathed it or loved it. "You really care about your papa, don't you?"

"I love Papa," Freddy said, and the fierceness in his voice caught Romano by surprise. "I love love love Papa!"

"And what about me?" Romano snapped, snatching his hand away from Freddy as jealousy flared in his chest. "I'm just some—" Romano stopped as Freddy caught his arm and glared at him.

"Lovino, too," Freddy said stubbornly, "I love Papa, Lovino, Feli, West, Kiku!"

Romano's face burned with embarrassment as warmth flooded his chest. He glanced quickly at the couch—where Japan was hurriedly sketching diagrams on a napkin while America and Germany argued about fuselages—then yanked Freddy in, hugging him for just a split second before pushing him back.

Just long enough to mutter, "I love you, too, kid," in Freddy's ear.

Freddy looked a little bewildered, but a gap-toothed grin spread across his face.

"Not that it means anything," Romano said, looking away. The sudden image of a tiny Veneciano beaming up at Grandpa Rome flashed into his mind—but now he was the one who was being loved. "It's just—you're—you're a good kid." Romano bit back half a dozen curses as he twisted with embarrassment. Freddy leaned against Romano's arm and yawned. "You wanna take a siesta with your papa, kid?"

"Birthday," Freddy mumbled. "With Lovino."

"Fine, fine, have it your way," Romano said. America turned around just long enough to flash him a grin and a thumbs up.

"I like McDonald's better than Burger King," America said brightly. Before Romano could give him an appropriately outraged response, he'd turned back to the napkin—which had, in the course of the last few minutes, become eight napkins, three of which seemed to be covered entirely in numbers and mathematical symbols. Romano settled for turning back to Freddy and sighing as he wrapped his arm around Freddy.

"I'll teach you about taste," Romano said, a touch conspiratorially. "Food, clothes, cars, everything."

"Okay!" Freddy said, a little drowsily despite the grin. "Happy birthday, Lovino!"

It was too cute a mistake; Romano couldn't bring himself to correct it. It did, however, remind him—he'd only gotten the kid a tiny present. Looking at the pile of boxes on the table, his chest seized up—there was no way that Freddy would still love him if he only gave him a stupid, measly pair of shoes! Veneciano had gotten him that huge box under the table; Prussia and Germany and all the rest had clearly splurged on their gifts. Freddy was going to hate him!

"Lovino?" Freddy said, tugging on his arm. Romano refocused his eyes on Freddy. "Say happy birthday?"

"Happy birthday," Romano muttered, trying to get his heart to stop hammering in his chest. "C'mon," Romano said, getting to his feet. "I—I've got some errands to run, so I'll pass you off to somebody else."

"I can take him," Romano thought he heard, but, even as he turned around, he couldn't spot the source of the voice. Not that the voice had been terribly loud; it was more like something that he'd thought to himself. But why would he think to himself in English?

"Mattie!" Freddy said happily, holding out his arms—and Romano saw him. A blonde who could nearly be America's twin, if it weren't for the softer expression, the gentler smile. The man scooped Freddy up, and Romano gaped at him, open-mouthed.

"I'm Canada," the man said wearily, looking at Romano with an expression that made it obvious that he knew Romano didn't recognize him. "Or Matthew, if you prefer."

"Mattie," Freddy insisted, burying his face in Canada's neck. "Om nom?" he asked, and Canada chuckled, petting his hair.

"Not yet," Canada said, still using English. "I think that you need a nap with your papa, or you're going to fall asleep in your cake." Canada bounced Freddy on his hip and smiled a little. He lowered his voice. "If you fall asleep in Alfred's cake, it'll take a week to get the dye off of your face!"

Romano was too dumbfounded to laugh, but Freddy giggled, rubbing his cheek against Canada's neck.

"Hurry back," Canada said, smiling as he waved Romano off. "The food should be ready in about an hour. I don't think Freddy would want to start without you."

"Yeah," Romano said, looking at Freddy, who waved goodbye, as well. "Well. Be right back, then."

"Love you, Lovino!" Freddy sang in English, waving harder. "Hurry back! Me Day!"

Romano nodded and raised a hand in parting before ducking out the door, praying that his blush (and his smug grin) would fade by the time he got to the store.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Freddy! Happy birthday to you!"

Prussia watched Freddy grin at the four candles before him—three years and one to grow on. France's cake had been too beautiful to be stained with colorful wax, so America's cake sat before Freddy. Prussia was glad that Japan was recording everything; he wanted to watch with his own, two eyes.

"Blow out the candles, Freddy," Prussia said, nudging him. Freddy nodded once, sucked in as much as his chest could hold, then hesitated.

"Papa, too?" he asked, looking up at Prussia in confusion. "Friends, too?"

"It's just you, kiddo," Prussia said, patting him on the back. "Go for it. Make a wish."

Freddy nodded slowly, looking thoughtful, then took in another deep breath and blew out all four candles in a single breath. Everybody cheered, and Freddy leapt to his feet, clapping with excitement.

"I wished!" Freddy said. America stooped down and pressed a finger to his lips.

"It's a secret, okay?" America said, giving him a conspiratorial look. "You can't tell anyone what you wished for."

"Not Papa?" Freddy asked plaintively, and Prussia was proud to hear that he'd answered America in English, just as he'd been addressed. Freddy pouted when America nodded, and Prussia bent down to ruffle his hair.

"You can tell me when it comes true," Prussia said. Freddy looked up at him, and then he leapt upward, throwing his arms around Prussia's neck. It caught him off guard, but he'd napped long enough to regain some energy, and he managed to sweep Freddy up in a hug.

"I'll cut the cake!" England volunteered. He'd shown up while Prussia had been napping, as had Greece and Hungary. Prussia met Hungary's gaze across the table—she was looking at Freddy, a look of longing in her eyes. Prussia looked away in time to see America snatch the knife from England.

"No way, dude," America said, shaking his head. "Not on my watch. You'll cut your fingers."

"I will not!" England said, drawing himself up to his full height. He took in a deep breath, but, before he could unleash a string of ten dollar variants of the word idiot, Romano cut in.

"It's the kid's birthday," Romano snapped, shoving the two of them apart. "Let me cut America's stupid cake!"

"I've already sliced my own cake," France said. "Angleterre, you must help me pass them out."

"Why me, you stupid frog?" England demanded, but Prussia saw him reaching for the plate. France smiled with triumph, and Italy turned to flip on the lights.

Prussia adjusted Freddy's weight to ease the strain on his right arm, which gave an ominous creak. Freddy craned around to watch as Romano attacked America's cake—Romano made eye contact with Freddy for an instant before the knife struck the cake. Instead of destroying the cake, as Prussia had expected, Romano began slicing it in earnest.

"He doesn't want anything to spoil Freddy's birthday," Canada said quietly, leaning in so Prussia could hear him over the clamor of scooting seats in and out and the clatter of plates and silverware being distributed. "He knows that Freddy wants to try that cake."

"I love Lovino!" Freddy shouted in response, and Prussia was relieved when he found that he could understand the Italian this time. Spain sat back in his chair and laughed loudly, while Romano turned red all the way to the tips of his ears. "Happy birthday!" Freddy sang in Italian. "Happy birthday," he sang again, this time in German. "Happy birthday to awesome me!" he shouted in English, then laughed hysterically, burying his face in Prussia's neck.

"What about Spanish?" Spain pouted. Freddy couldn't stop laughing long enough to answer, though, and Canada reached out to take him when Prussia tried to stretch his arms without dropping him.

"It's cake time, Friedrich," Canada said, bouncing Freddy on his hip twice before setting him back down at the head of the table. Prussia stretched to crack his back and surveyed the table—he and Canada were standing to Freddy's left, while America and Romano stood to his right, but France and England had settled into their seats, and everyone else was waiting relatively patiently to get started. As the four of them took their seats, Prussia felt relieved that so many nations had shown up; there were still a lot of nations who disapproved of him raising a kid—China came to mind, as did Russia, although Russia had smiled the entire time—but he really had a lot of people behind him.

He watched as Freddy carefully cut off a bite of his slice of America's cake—Prussia grinned as he saw France pretend to feel faint—and took a big bite. America beamed as Freddy chewed thoughtfully, then took a bite of France's and made the same expression, screwing up his eyes as he considered the two. Everyone around the table waited, and Freddy finally looked around.

"Nom?" Freddy asked, tilting his head to one side. Prussia shot Canada a look, but Canada was too busy stifling a giggle to notice.

"Stop staring at him and eat already!" Romano snapped, snatching up his fork and taking a big bite of cake—and immediately gagging. Prussia followed Romano's gaze and saw that America had slipped some of his own cake onto Romano's plate while none of them had been paying attention. Romano rounded on America, and Prussia opened his mouth to cut in and keep Romano from cursing a blue streak at America, but Freddy spoke first.

"Nom, Lovino?" Freddy asked, swallowing. Romano looked at Freddy for a long moment, then closed his eyes and swallowed. Freddy grinned, and Romano managed to settle back into his seat. The rest of the table was alive with chatter, but America's one-sided conversation with everyone at their end was unintelligible; his mouth was full. Germany and Japan were trying to explain something about a new engineering project to Italy, and only Canada and Prussia were watching Romano.

"It's not like it means anything," Romano muttered, almost too quietly for Prussia to catch. "I just don't want to start a war with some idiot who spends more on defense than the other top fifteen combined, okay? So don't get the wrong—look, I'm trying to eat here!" Romano took a bite of France's cake this time, turning red. Prussia guessed that grinning at him would just bother him more, and, though he could remember a time when he might've done it for just that reason, it was Freddy's birthday. And, he thought to himself, maybe, just maybe, I'm growing up a little bit, myself.

Freddy stared at the heap of presents, then glanced back at Prussia wordlessly, pointing to himself.

"Yep," Prussia said, waving at them. "They're all for you!"

Freddy gawked at them for another minute, seemingly unable to comprehend it; Prussia noticed Romano fidgeting out of the corner of his eye. When Freddy didn't move to open anything, Romano snatched one of his unwrapped packages and held it out to Freddy, not looking at him. Prussia figured that he'd gone out to get the rest of the gifts while he and Freddy had been napping.

Freddy took the package and sat on the floor to open it. The lid came away easily, and Freddy pulled out the tissue paper inside, setting it carefully in the boxtop, which he'd set to his right. After a moment, he pulled out the gift. Prussia knew that Romano knew shoes; the shoes Freddy was holding were probably worth more than Freddy's entire wardrobe. Freddy blinked at them, then grinned. Prussia expected him to pull them on, but instead watched as Freddy got to his feet and marched them to the door, where he set them neatly beside the pair that he'd taken off when they arrived.

The worry and confusion on Romano's face eased a little, but Prussia noticed that his hands were still shaking as he held the second unwrapped box. Freddy, finally satisfied that his shoes were in order, ran back to Romano.

"Grazie, Lovino!" Freddy said, throwing his around Romano's knees. Romano turned pink, and he shifted the box to rest under one arm so that he could reach down and pat Freddy on the head.

"Here," he said, his voice a little gruff with embarrassment. "Look, they're just shoes, okay?"

Freddy accepted the second box and sat down again. He opened it just as carefully as the first box, setting the lid and tissue paper to the right, the box to the left. Prussia noticed that America was arming himself with an armful of red, white, and blue packages.

Freddy pulled out the present, a very fine suit, and Prussia almost smiled at his excitement. Germany had never been excited to get clothes as a kid! But Freddy buried his face in the nice suit, beaming into it. Freddy was still wearing his pajamas, since he'd never wanted to change out of them; they were fuzzy and covered with pictures of puppies. Unceremoniously, Freddy yanked off his shirt and pants—Prussia had to smother a laugh as Freddy futzed with the buttons and the jacket. Romano was nonplussed.

"H-here, just let me do the buttons!" Romano said quickly, hastily doing them up as Freddy pulled on his new pants. After a moment, Freddy stood up proudly in his new suit, clearly delighted by it; America made as though to pass him a present, but Freddy was so busy strutting around in his nice suit that he didn't notice. Prussia suddenly frowned, wondering if he should've gotten Freddy nicer clothes to begin with; he'd mostly stuck to simple, comfortable stuff so far.

"Grazie, grazie, grazie!" Freddy sang, spinning in a circle. Romano hid his face.

"Look, it's just a—" Romano began, but Freddy was hugging his knees again; sighing (and, Prussia noticed, looking just a tad smug), he stooped down to smooth Freddy's hair. He seemed about to speak when America butted in.

"Here, Freddy!" America said, kneeling on the ground and spreading out his and Canada's presents. "You can't play favorites!"

Freddy kissed Romano's cheek and then darted over to the presents, leaving Romano to bluster at no one. He suddenly didn't care about carefully opening them and organizing their contents; he tore right into them, tossing the wrapping paper over his shoulder and whooping as he went. A football with red, white, and blue patches instead of black and white ones, a jump rope, a water gun that America proudly called the Super Soaker Monster XL (which looked too big for Freddy to even carry if it were filled up), a stack of American board games, and a whistle were quickly revealed; the whistle earned a place of honor around Freddy's neck, and he blew it shrilly. Prussia cracked up as he saw Germany cringe, and Freddy, encouraged by the laughter, blew it again.

"Here, Freddy," Canada said, placing his packages in front of Freddy. Prussia grinned and cracked up again as the nations stiffened; only Romano and America seemed to recognize Canada in that instant. Freddy dove into the packages, unearthing a huge sack of Canada's homemade pancake mix and a jug of maple syrup, both too heavy for him to lift; the next boxes held a child-sized skillet and spatula. Freddy beamed as he saw these last two, immediately leaping to his feet to throw his arms around Canada's neck.

"And what am I, chopped liver?" America asked, darting in to steal a hug from Freddy. "The last box is from me and Matt."

Freddy turned back and brushed some stray wrapping paper aside to find it, then ripped it open—it was a crate full of books.

"These are all of our favorites," America said, pointing at them. "You won't be able to read them right away, but Matt and I'll read 'em to you."

"Thank you!" Freddy shouted, and Prussia was somehow proud to notice that he was responding to each in the correct language.

"Open big brother Francis's next, mon ami," France said, pushing forward a pile of rose-printed boxes. Freddy nodded and tore them open, pulling out an apron, a full, child-sized kitchen set, and three French cookbooks.

"Apron!" he shouted, recognizing it. "Merci, Francis!" To Romano's clear dismay, he pulled the apron on over his suit and began stacking all of the pots and pans. When he realized that their clattering sounded kind of musical, he started drumming on one with Canada's spatula; America clapped him on the back and cheered, but Japan hastened to Freddy's side.

"It's not much," Japan said, holding it out. Freddy set down the spatula and opened the box; Prussia recognized it immediately as a lacquered bento box. Freddy turned it sideways, frowning at it in confusion, then reached into the box to pull out another gift—a little robot. Japan coughed discreetly, and leaned in to whisper to Freddy in such rapid Japanese that Prussia couldn't make out what he was saying. Freddy positively beamed, setting the robot down and twisting around to hug Japan, nearly knocking the camera from his hands.

"Arigatou gozaimasu!" Freddy cheered, burying his face in Japan's side as he beamed.

"And what about 'Toni?" Spain asked, carefully setting down his tomato red boxes in front of Freddy. "Be careful when you open them."

Freddy peeled away from Japan and eyed the presents curiously. He carefully unwrapped each of them, folding the paper and setting it beside Romano's boxes; when he opened the boxed, Prussia craned around to get a look inside—Freddy seemed reluctant to touch the contents, and he looked up at Prussia for an explanation. It took a split second, but Prussia recognized them—tomato seedlings, just sprouted.

"I'll help you plant them in your backyard," Spain said. "Go on and open Englands—err, Arthur's—before he explodes, okay?"

Freddy turned around and looked up at England. Canada had insisted that inviting him would warm him up to the idea of keeping Freddy, but he just looked distinctly uncomfortable. He held out a platter of his own scones—Prussia knew they were his own, homemade ones because they were burnt—and Freddy walked up to him hesitantly. Prussia shot a warning glance at France, who was already opening his mouth to make some insulting remark. France rolled his eyes, but obediently closed his mouth. Romano seemed to be shaking with the effort to keep in a tirade.

"Here you are," England said, a little awkwardly.

"Thank you," Freddy smiled up at him, and, trustingly, reached up to take a scone. Prussia closed his eyes for a moment, thanking God that Freddy hadn't just said, 'Ew!' up at England after all the times that Prussia had included English food in his bedtime stories. He opened his eyes in time to see Freddy take a bite, and he winced with pity as Freddy chewed thoughtfully for a moment and then froze. He set the rest of the scone back on the platter, but managed to choke down what he'd already bit off.

"I'm full," Freddy explained. He took the platter and carefully set it on the table. "For later," he said, pointing at it. Prussia wondered whether, as a parent, he was supposed to teach Freddy not to lie, or just be glad that he knew how to tell white lies well for a two-year-old—for a three-year-old, Prussia corrected himself.

"I see," England said, looking a little relieved. "Well, happy birthday, m'boy."

Hungary stepped forward next. Freddy accepted the gift and, after a confirmatory glance, sat down and tore off the paper. Inside the box, on top of a stack of books written in Hungarian and German, there was a cloth, handmade doll. Freddy picked up the doll, looked it in its button eyes, and then crushed it in a hug.

"Barát!" Freddy shouted. Friend in Hungarian, Prussia realized, after a moment's delay. When had he learned that? "Thank you!" Freddy said, again in Hungarian, rubbing his face against the doll's as he squeezed it. Hungary grinned, but Prussia knew the sorrow in her eyes. Japan took another photo, as though taking pictures would be enough to keep Freddy with them forever. Freddy lovingly placed his doll in the front pocket of his apron so that only her brown yarn hair was visible.

"Freddy," Italy called, and Freddy put a finger to his lips, pointing at the doll.

"Sleeping," Freddy whispered, this time in Italian.

Italy nodded, looking bemused. He pulled the table back to let Freddy have access to the big package beneath it, standing it upright so that it was nearly as tall as Freddy himself. Freddy glanced at the books left in Hungary's box, but came over obediently. Germany came forward and set a smaller box beside Italy's, and Freddy looked up at him in confusion. Germany looked away, suddenly flustered, and Freddy deliberated for a moment before opening the big box first.

Prussia's jaw dropped at Freddy opened the box—his wasn't the only jaw to drop, either, as Freddy's methodical tears revealed that Italy had bought Freddy a child-sized Vespa. A smile broke across Freddy's face, and he seemed on the verge of shouting when he remembered the doll in his pocket.

"Grazie, Feli!" Freddy whispered, grinning up at him. Prussia saw Romano spasm behind Freddy. Prussia swallowed hard, wondering how he was supposed to top a gift like a Vespa.

"It's from Germany, too," Italy said dismissively, pointing to the little box. Freddy ran a hand along the box while walking toward the box. He opened it and pulled out a bright blue helmet that matched the Vespa—it was Freddy's favorite color. Freddy immediately put it on, so his thank you to Germany was muffled.

Greece seemed to be waking up from his spot on the couch. Prussia watched him hunt around in his shirt and pants pockets for a moment before pulling out a cat toy. He squeezed it, and it squeaked, catching Freddy's attention.

It also caught the intention of the fluffy, brown kitten that had apparently been sleeping in Greece's hair the entire time. Prussia fought down a groan—Aster was good with kittens, but the others hadn't spent much time with them yet, and Prussia knew that he was going to be the one taking care of the kitten.

Freddy shifted nervously as he faced the kitten, who yawned and stretched on Greece's head. The kitten blinked down at Freddy, then leapt down onto Greece's lap, batting at the toy. Greece scooped her up and then held her out to Freddy.

"She was born about sixteen weeks ago," Greece said, using very simple Japanese instead of Greek. Prussia bit his tongue; he'd talk to Greece later. "Take good care of her."

Freddy hesitantly picked up the kitten, holding her like a baby. She stuck her nose against the glass of his helmet, then snuggled into the crook of his arm. Prussia knew it was time to step forward and give Freddy his present, but he was feeling outclassed by all of the other gifts, and a little ashamed of himself for still feeling so exhausted after his nap.

"That's it for this party, I think," Prussia said. "I'll give you your present when we get home, okay?" Prussia added, and Freddy nodded, still facing the kitten. "You're all welcome to drop by, but drop us a line first; we don't stay home all day every day!"

Prussia watched Freddy as he carefully set Piyopiyo—the plush chick that Prussia had given him for his birthday two years ago—on the chair, patting his battered, feathery head.

"Don't want him to get soaked?" Prussia asked, grinning and stretching. Freddy beamed back at him.

"You're not even gonna touch me!" Freddy boasted, puffing out his chest. "I'm faster than lightning! I can dodge every water balloon you've got, Papa!"

Prussia's grin turned fierce, and he flipped the water balloon over in his hand. It was the end of Freddy's last summer before he'd be attending an international school not too far from home; they'd decided to go on one last trip to visit Romano before school started up. They were somewhere near Rome, at Romano's private house; it was mid-August and hot. Romano had insisted that they wait until after the Ferragosto festivities had wound down; Freddy did all right in crowds, but Romano worried.

"Sure you can, Freddy," Prussia chuckled. "I bet Al and Lovino are waiting."

"They must be melting," Freddy sighed, fanning himself. The air was thick and heavy; it clung to their skin and drenched them with sweat that wouldn't evaporate. They'd already stripped down to their swimsuits, but Prussia was eager to get the water fight started.

"How about we sneak attack 'em?" Prussia said, leaning down. "I bet you twenty marks that they've got an ambush waiting for us."

"Marks aren't worth the paper they're printed on," Freddy dutifully recited, rolling his eyes. Not that a mark had been printed in more than a decade. Prussia chuckled, and Freddy flashed him a cocky grin that Prussia was sure he'd picked up from America somewhere along the way. "Uncle Al wouldn't do something as unheroic as ambush me," Freddy said, waving his hand dismissively.

"Prove it, then," Prussia said, gesturing toward the door. Freddy hesitated for a split second before jutting out his chin and striding toward the door. He'd hardly made it out the door before the first water balloon splashed at his feet, but Freddy was fast—by the time Prussia darted after him, he had already evaded two more water balloons and was squirting America with his faithful super soaker.

"Papa, I need reinforcements!" Freddy shouted gleefully. He did a somersault to evade a fourth water balloon and landed to balance the gun on one knee, spraying America in the chest. Prussia glanced to one side and saw Romano filling water balloons and setting them in a huge bucket. Prussia flung his water balloon, and he managed not to think of grenades as it burst against America's cheek. Freddy whooped.

"Thanks," Prussia said, using Italian, scooping a water balloon out of Romano's bucket. He'd discovered that he actually had to practice his languages to keep from forgetting them. "Aren't you gonna join in the fun?"

Romano looked up at him for a split second—by the time Prussia noticed the half-grin tugging at the corner of Romano's mouth and backpedaled, Romano had turned the hose on him. Cool water doused him from head to toe, knocking the wind out of him. Prussia ran for it, but Romano pursued him.

"Freddy, backup!" Prussia howled, lobbing water balloons over his shoulder. "God, how long is that hose?"

"Fifty meters!" Romano crowed, turning the hose on Freddy when he came to defend Prussia. Freddy shrieked with delight, spinning in the water. "All the water balloons you want and unlimited water gun refills if you switch sides!" Romano said, focusing the hose on Prussia again and holding his thumb so that the spray fanned out, making it nearly impossible to totally dodge. Freddy met Prussia's gaze, and Prussia gave him a little nod and a grin, and Freddy beamed, squirting the super soaker at Prussia's chest. Romano looked triumphant.

"Three against one isn't fair!" America shouted, hurling a water balloon at Romano's feet as a warning shot. "I'll back you up, Gil!"

"Since when does the hero back anyone up?" Romano smirked, turning the hose on America as Freddy focused his efforts on Prussia. Prussia managed to evade most of Freddy's shots as he ran to grab more ammunition; being drenched made it possible to move in the thick, still air, but half the fun was pretending that he didn't want to get soaked.

"No flirting, Uncle Al!" Freddy shouted in English, interrupting America as he ran by him, ducking under Romano's hose as he pursued Prussia. Romano and America both turned red and blustery—Prussia, who'd finally reached the tub of water balloons, cracked up.

"Who taught you that?" Prussia asked, tossing a water balloon at Romano's back. Freddy looked immensely proud of himself.

"Mattie told me to say that to Uncle Al to get him to shut up," Freddy explained.

Prussia laughed harder still, accidentally popping the water balloon that he'd just picked up and drenching his own arm. He flicked aside the rubber remnants of the balloon and reached for another as Freddy shot him.

"I got you!" Freddy shouted. Prussia made a huge show of clutching his hands to the spot on his chest that Freddy had hit, staggering backwards and falling over with a moan to land on the grass.

"Argh! You got me!" Prussia cried out. "Medic, medic!"

"On my way!" America shouted, racing over to Prussia side. Freddy knew a bit about honor; he didn't shoot the man who was down, and he knew better than to shoot a medic. America mimed a stethoscope. "Oh, this could be very serious. Sir!" America said, waving at Freddy. "We need a blood transfusion! Can you give me a hand?"

Freddy nodded, running over and holding out his arm. America tapped Freddy's arm at the elbow, then Prussia's. Prussia groaned, staggering back to his feet, and America clapped Freddy's shoulder.

"Game on!" America shouted, darting out of the way. Prussia dodge rolled to the side and lobbed a water balloon at Romano, but it went wide and struck the fleeing America's leg. He landed hard, and it took Prussia a minute to realize that he was still just pretending as he groaned.

"Struck down by the very man I saved!" America said dramatically, only snickering a little. "Medic, medic!"

Freddy ran over and, just as America had done, mimed a stethoscope.

"Transfusion!" Freddy declared, tapping his own arm and then America's. America made a huge show of rising from the dead, and Freddy kicked his leg. "Just get up, Uncle Al."

Prussia twisted around, wondering where Romano had vanished to, and saw him furiously making water balloons. Behind him, beyond the house, Prussia saw black thunderclouds heading their way. The rest of the yard was clear and sunny, but a slight breeze was beginning to pick up.

"I'm out of ammo!" Prussia said, looking at America. America grinned, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a mini squirt gun.

"That's all I've got!" America shouted. "I'll go raid their base. Distract them!"

"Got it!" Prussia said, running at Freddy, who shrieked happily and ran away.

"You can't catch me, Papa!" Freddy sang. "I'm faster than lightning!"

Prussia had to admit to himself that he was panting, and all of this running was taking a toll on him, but he had gotten used to his increasingly human body; he knew his limits better than he had before. He sprinted after Freddy, roaring with a war cry that had made hardened soldiers wet their pants on the battlefield. Freddy just giggled, but Romano looked around, stunned—that moment was all America needed to swipe an armful of water balloons.

"Here!" America shouted, tossing two to Prussia. As they slipped out of his hands, Prussia saw that America realized his mistake, but before he could try to catch them, thunder boomed across the sky, loud enough to rattle the window panes. Freddy gasped, dropping his super soaker. The water balloons splashed at his feet; Freddy had somehow avoided all of the water in their water war thus far.

The clouds rolled over the sky, and a torrent of rain came loose, drenching them all to the bone. Prussia saw America and Romano instinctively hold up their arms to defend themselves, but Freddy threw his arms out and his head back, sticking his tongue out to catch the falling raindrops.

"It's raining!" Freddy sang, spinning around. He slipped and landed on his back in the mud, laughing as he splashed around. "Rain, rain, come today! Come again tomorrow!"

Prussia grinned, but the flashes of lightning worried him; they were in an open field, no better than lightning rods in this kind of weather.

"Let's get inside and get Mattie to make us pancakes," Prussia called, his voice nearly drowned out by the thunder and the torrential rain. Freddy looked up at the word pancakes and grinned excitedly, leaping to his feet. They ran inside, tracking mud into Romano's clean kitchen. Romano was wringing out his hair.

"I've got the batter ready," Canada said, smiling from the end of the counter. Romano jumped, then looked embarrassed.

"How was your book?" America asked, reaching over to stick his finger in the batter. Mattie swatted his hand away.

"Not nearly as exciting as watching all of you duke it out, eh?" Canada said, pouring out the batter onto the skillet. "I thought you'd want pancakes, so I made some while I filmed you."

"Where's Piyopiyo?" Freddy asked, looking around. "And Barát? And Demeter?"

Demeter was Freddy's cat, a gift from Greece; she disliked thunder, and often disappeared as soon as it started raining. Canada smiled.

"They're all safe and sound in your guest room," Canada said.

"You're gonna catch a cold, Freddy," Romano said. "Here, I'll get us all towels. Stop tracking mud around, America!"

"Got it, got it," America said easily, pulling away from the counter. "Thanks, Lovino!"

"Thank you, Lovino!" Freddy shouted after him. "I love you!"

Canada smiled to himself, and Prussia grinned as he looked around at his family. The human-feeling made his back ache; he cracked it and stretched, utterly satisfied. Germany was at Italy's house, miles and miles to the north; Romano still didn't get along with him. But there Freddy was, bringing everyone together.

Canada flipped the first pancake over, and Prussia stooped down to muss Freddy's damp hair.

"I love you, kiddo, even if you defected to the other team," Prussia said. Freddy threw his arms around Prussia's neck.

"I love you, too, Papa!" Freddy said happily. Prussia hugged him back and imagined that the pain in his joints had eased. It was all worth it for this.

Thunder rattled the window panes as lightning split the sky in two; Freddy shrieked with delight, clutching Barát to his chest as he burrowed further underneath his blanket. Romano kept his house comfortably cool, and the place was well insulated enough that, even with the power out, it wasn't getting hot.

"And then," Canada said, leaning forward and using his spookiest voice, "at the end of the corridor..."

"Stop!" America screeched, trembling beneath his own blanket. "I can't take it! This is just too scary—it's the scariest thing ever and I'm going to die if I hear the end and you have to stop right now!"

Freddy squeezed Barát once more, then held out the old doll to America.

"Here," Freddy said, swallowing. "Barát will keep you safe."

America poked his head out from beneath the blankets, and Prussia almost laughed at the tears in his eyes.

"But she's your friend," America said, his lower lip trembling. "I couldn't."

Freddy held Barát's mouth up to his own ear, nodded a few times, and then held her out again, saying, "She says that she wants to sit with you for a while."

America took in a deep breath and gently took Barát from Freddy. Romano was rolling his eyes, even though he'd been shaking, too, just a moment ago.

"And then?" Freddy said, grinning. "Who was at the end of the hall?"

"No one," Canada whispered. A hush fell across the room. "The man wandered from room to room, following the eerie voice—help me. Help me." Canada swept his arm out across their little circle, looking everyone right in the eye. "He searched for hours, with the voice whispering from just behind his ear at every turn. But he was all alone." Canada drew himself up, and Freddy grinned.

"Or so he thought," Freddy said, clearly sure that there was some reason, some ending, waiting just ahead in the story. Canada nodded solemnly.

"Finally, he came to a stop at the end of the corridor," Canada said, "Where he'd first heard the groan of pain. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror, trying to calm himself. 'Help me!' the voice shouted, and he looked up to see his own face in the mirror, contorted with pain. He looked past his reflection—there was a figure at the end of the hallway. He twisted around, but he was too slow—a shot rang out, and he fell back against the mirror, gasping out his last words: Help me, help me."

America seemed to be terrified beyond expression; he was crushing Barát so tightly that Prussia knew he'd have to repair her later. Romano was trying to play it cool, but his curl had wound itself up tighter than Prussia had ever seen it. Freddy grinned as lightning flashed—the thunder wasn't instantaneous this time, though it followed within five seconds. The storm was starting to recede.

"That was great, Mattie!" Freddy said happily, flopping back onto the couch cushion fort they'd built and knocking it down around their ears. America shrieked, but Prussia just laughed as he watched Freddy kick the cushions aside. Romano was breathing hard.

"You'll have to tell a scary one next time," Romano said, shrugging as he pushed a cushion aside. It was forced.

"You've gotta sleep with me tonight," America begged, not digging his way out of the fallen fort. "Please. Anybody! I'm gonna have the worst nightmares ever."

"Not my problem," Romano said gruffly. Prussia suspected that Romano wouldn't mind having someone to keep the ghosts away, himself. "Make yourself an espresso and wait for the sun to come out for all I care."

"I'll go take care of the dishes," Canada said, smiling. Prussia watched Romano watch Canada go, remembering that, two years ago, Romano hadn't been able to see Canada at all. Worry tugged somewhere in his chest.

"I'll go tuck Freddy in," Prussia said. "You want to read him a more cheerful bed time story, Lovino?"

America just whimpered. Romano looked down at him, a little flash of pity in his expression, before getting to his feet and nodding at Prussia.

"Sure," Romano said. "If this big lug isn't asleep by the time we're done, I'll knock him out myself."

Freddy looked over at Papa, who was sound asleep on the bed beside him. Lovino was starting to get up and leave, but Freddy sat up, and Lovino turned back to him.

"Is Mattie's story still getting to you?" Lovino asked, a tinge of concern in his tone. "Look, it's perfectly natural to be scared, but—"

Freddy shook his head.

"That's not it," he whispered, looking down at his hands. He felt ashamed of himself all of a sudden. "It's—I start school soon, right?"

"Yeah," Lovino said, settling back into the easy chair by the bed.

"What if the other kids don't like me?" Freddy said, drawing his knees up to his chest. "What if I mess up and use all the wrong languages in all the wrong classes? What if everyone's better at everything and I can't keep up?"

Lovino was silent. Freddy swallowed hard to ease the lump in his throat, suddenly afraid he was going to start crying.

"What's Papa going to do without me?" he whispered. "He's going to be so lonely. West is always busy—all of you are. I know you take vacations for me, but Papa needs company. What's he going to do all day?"

Lovino sighed, reaching over to squeeze Freddy's shoulder.

"That's stuff for the grown ups to worry about, okay?" Lovino said, letting go of his shoulder. "You just have to do your best, and everything'll work out one way or another. Or some sh—something like that." Freddy recognized the tone; it was the tone that many of the nations took around Freddy when they were saying things they'd heard they were supposed to tell kids. Freddy recognized the uncertainty.

"What do you really think?" Freddy asked. "Really honestly?"

"I think you're gonna kick their butts," Lovino said, straightening up and looking Freddy in the eye. "If any of those little punks lays a hand on you, you'd better tell them that they'll be going swimming in concrete boots, courtesy of your dear old godfather, got it? They'll be sleeping with the fishies."

Freddy nodded seriously. Mattie would probably tell him not to say things that would get him in trouble, but Lovino always had his back.

"Thanks, Lovino," Freddy said softly. He laid down and closed his eyes. "I love you."

Lovino leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

"Did you tell your papa that you were worried about all of this?" Lovino asked him. Freddy shook his head.

"Only you," Freddy said. "It's a secret. I don't want him to worry. You know him. He's always so tired."

Lovino didn't reply, and Freddy adjusted the blankets around himself, finally at ease.

"G'night, Lovino," Freddy mumbled. "Love you. Sleep well."

"G'night, kiddo," Lovino said. "Take it easy."

Freddy tucked Barát into bed, gently wrapping her arm around Piyopiyo. Demeter was curled up at the foot of the bed—Freddy desperately wanted to scoop the big, fat cat up and stroke her long fur and forget all about school, but he decided that, as a student, he was grown up enough to just let her sleep.

He tiptoed out of his room and carefully left the door open a crack, just enough for Demeter to slip in and out. He pressed his hand against the cool, white wall and breathed in deeply, building up his courage. Finally, with a sigh, he went into the living room. All of his aunts and uncles were there—the nations. Uncle Al was talking to West and Kiku; they were designing something again. The rest were milling around, looking restless. Uncle Vash looked ready to shoot somebody, and Papa looked exhausted and unhappy. Freddy cleared his throat, and everyone looked at him.

"I don't want everybody to come," Freddy lied, embarrassment flaring in his chest. "Uncle Vash and Papa can take me."

"You see?" Vash said, waving his pistol at the assembled nations. "The boy is reasonable! What will the school do with a dozen extra guests? And who among you will actually be picking the boy up?"

Half a dozen hands went up; Vash pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You're going to make the boy stand out!" he snapped. "I thought that we agreed he was to be schooled in neutral Switzerland, where he could be instructed in multiple languages and treated like an ordinary student. No ordinary student arrives with an entourage!"

Freddy caught Lovino's eye and pleaded with him silently. Lovino would understand, even if the others didn't want to. Sure enough, Lovino huffed, breaking Freddy's gaze to look around at the other nations.

"Come on, already!" Lovino snapped, grabbing Feli's shoulder. "If he wants to go with Gil and Switzerland, let him! It's his first day of school. Unless you all want to start going to kindergarten?"

There was a general murmuring, but then the tension released. Some of the nations looked hurt; Freddy looked down at the new shoes that Lovino had bought for him, trying to shore up his courage as butterflies fought in his stomach. He heard the door open, and listened as people walked out.

Papa stooped beside him, and Freddy couldn't bear to meet his eyes; he knew he'd see Papa's exhaustion, Papa's sadness, Papa's loneliness. He'd gotten to know Papa very well over the last two and a quarter years. He knew Papa's every expression. He dimly remembered the angry man that he'd been forced to call papa before then. The man who shouted at him for stuttering until he'd stopped talking at all—it was blurry beyond that.

Freddy looked up, forcing himself to meet Papa's gaze. Papa grinned at him, and Freddy managed to grin back.

"All set, kiddo?" Papa asked him. Freddy nodded brightly, trying to pretend that he didn't feel like he was on the verge of throwing up from nerves. "All right. Off we go, then!"

Freddy held Papa's hand on the way out to the car, pausing only to glance back at Romano and mouth grazie at him. Freddy buckled himself in as the car door slammed. His first day of school. His last chance to have endless free time had passed. He had to be a big boy. Papa got in on the passenger side as Vash settled into the driver's seat, and Freddy closed his eyes. As Uncle Al would say, T minus thirty minutes and counting.

Prussia stared up at Germany's ceiling, head pillowed on his arms, which were gradually falling asleep.

9:07. Freddy had started the school day already; was he making friends? Were the other kids being nice to him? Had Prussia and Japan and Italy all packed him a good enough lunch? Were they even allowed to pack him a lunch?

9:08. Prussia's leg, neck, nose itched. He didn't scratch them. His arms were tingly and growing numb. He didn't adjust his position. What if Freddy didn't know how to make friends with kids his own age? What if he caught something—even if he'd been vaccinated, what if it didn't stick?

9:09. Ordinarily they'd be playing with Demeter about now; she liked the little catnip mouse that Freddy had gotten her last Christmas. Aster sometimes liked to play, too, but only when Germany wasn't looking.

9:10. Prussia groaned and staggered to his feet. He had a doctor's appointment at ten, and it was a fifteen minute drive, but the wait was killing him. The house was still and silent but for the endless ticking of the clock.

"If I were still Prussia, I'd be able to run there and make it on time," Prussia muttered to himself, tossing aside one of the pillows on the couch. It reminded him of Freddy's couch cushion fort and all the pillow fights they'd had. The house was silent; only Prussia's heartbeat answered him. "Freddy is fine," Prussia said, striding toward his room to get dressed, only to remember that he was already out of his pajamas. He wished Canada had stuck around. "Freddy is awesome. All the kids will want to be his friend." Prussia's voice was too loud; he cracked his neck, his back, his knuckles, and even his toes. It didn't ease the discomfort in his back. "Maybe they'll have an earlier opening," Prussia said, turning on his heel. The clock glowed in the dim kitchen: 9:12. It was starting to rain outside, even though it'd been clear when he and Switzerland had dropped Freddy off.

Prussia grabbed the keys from the key hook by the door and drove to the doctor's office. There was an earlier appointment available at 9:45; he sat for fifteen long minutes in the waiting room, flipping through parenting magazines, feeling too nervous to actually focus on any given article.

The health exam was long and thorough, but Prussia felt utterly detached. They took his blood, made him walk and bend for them, tested his reactions, weighed him, took urine samples, and more. Prussia ran on autopilot throughout, wondering whether Freddy was hungry or lonely. Whether Freddy needed to be picked up and thrown in the air. Whether Freddy missed him.

"We won't have all of your blood work back for a week, Herr Beilschmidt," the doctor said, returning to the room. "However, I have a few immediate concerns. How old are you?"

Prussia laughed despite himself, and the doctor suddenly noticed a mark on the chart, then coughed in embarrassment.

"A thousand years old, give or take a century," Prussia said, shrugging. The doctor flushed.

"Of course, sir," the doctor said. "What is your human age? Should you have the body of a twenty-year-old? A twenty-seven-year-old?"

"No one knows," Prussia said softly. "When a nation ends, they disappear. It happened to the Roman Empire, Ancient Greece, and a bunch of others, but it hasn't happened to any of my direct allies. Not in centuries."

The doctor nodded.

"Would it surprise you, then, to learn that when you last visited me a year ago, you had the physique of a twenty-seven-year-old, and this year you appear by all rights to be thirty-five?"

Prussia swallowed hard, his heart freezing in his chest.

"You're aging much more rapidly than an ordinary human," the doctor said. "You seem to be burning up your body, so to speak. Even though you eat right, exercise, and are in generally a fit state of health, you are deteriorating."

"How long do I have?" Prussia asked, ashamed at the way his voice cracked. "I have a son—"

"I'd give you ten years at most," the doctor said softly. "Without seeing your blood work, of course."

Freddy would hardly be fifteen.

"I don't look any different," Prussia said, looking down at his hands. The doctor sighed.

"You probably won't look much different even at the end," the doctor said. "I am evaluating not your appearance, but your strength, endurance, and the general state of your health."

"Worst case scenario?" Prussia asked. The doctor pulled off his glasses and cleaned them, avoiding Prussia's gaze.

"I cannot know without seeing your blood work," the doctor said gently.

"Worst case scenario?" Prussia insisted.

"Three years, perhaps five," the doctor said. "If you continue to overexert yourself or have any serious health complications, it might even be less."

"Tell me when you get the blood work in. Can you get a rush done on it?"

"Not for all of the tests," the doctor said. "I'll call you the moment they're in, Herr Beilschmidt."

Freddy leapt into the tub with a splash, sending his toy battleships over the side of the tub in a tidal wave of soapy water. Prussia sat by the tub, rinsing out his hair—the entire bathroom had been designed by Japan. Prussia sat on the plastic stool, staring down at the bucket as he refilled it.

"And then Alexandra pulled my hair, but she just did it because she wanted a turn playing with the toy car," Freddy said excitedly, reaching for his battleships. "Her papa is an America diplomat staying in Italy, did you know? So she spoke to me mostly in English and Italian. But Heinrich only spoke German, so I had to translate for him. The teacher told me I should let them learn the language themselves, but that's not fair when they've never had a chance to. And I know a whole bunch of languages—I had no idea! I thought everyone would know more than me, just like all of you do. But they didn't know half the languages Uncle Al taught me!"

"Sounds like an awesome day!" Prussia said, trying to match Freddy's enthusiasm. Freddy nodded.

"Pass the foam soap?" Freddy asked, and Prussia tossed it to him, then dumped the bucket of water on his head to rinse out the last of his shampoo. Freddy drew a huge, yellow sun on the wall. "Elizabeta taught me this trick, look—" Prussia looked up to watch Freddy draw little, flattened 'm's by the sun. "See, they're birds!" He drew triangles—sails—and half-moons for ships beneath them. "The tub is the ocean!" Freddy cried. "My ocean!"

"We should've introduced you to Peter, Arthur's littlest brother," Prussia chuckled. Sealand might have been a bad influence, though, and Sweden and Finland would have had to have joined them; they'd never found the time to arrange a play date. "I guess there's still time. You're catching up to him, age-wise."

"I'll catch up to everybody!" Freddy laughed. Prussia grinned, trying to put his heart into it. He turned and clamored into the tub.

"Not me, kiddo!" Prussia said. "Everybody else, maybe, but not me!"

"Well, of course not you, Papa," Freddy laughed. "That'd just be weird."

"Who knows about Lovino," Prussia sighed, settling back against the far end of the rather large tub. "He can see Mattie, but he's not slowing down just yet."

"I hope I can catch up to him," Freddy said wistfully, dangling his arms over the edge of the tub. "I wanna marry him someday, Papa."

Prussia tried very hard not to choke on air.

"Well, he's a romantic kind of guy," Prussia managed. "You'd probably have to get the proposal just right. But don't you go on and overshoot him, age-wise—then there's no way you can get married."

"But you're getting older, even if Mattie isn't," Freddy said, turning to blink at Prussia in confusion. "And you're gonna marry him, aren't you?"

"What?" Prussia demanded. "I—who—no, no, I never—"

"It's okay, Papa," Freddy said, patting Prussia's leg. "I think that Mattie would make a great papa, too. So I don't mind."

Prussia sputtered, running out of words, then starting cracking up.

"You just want more pancakes, don't you?" Prussia said, wiggling his eyebrows at Freddy. "This doesn't have anything to do with me, right?"

"You bet it does!" Freddy said, leaping up and jumping out of the tub with a splash, skidding slightly before catching himself on the sink. "I'm going to call Mattie and propose for you right now!"

"Oh no you aren't!" Prussia said, snatching after him, but Freddy had already slipped out the door. Prussia gave chase, but by the time he tracked Freddy down, he was already on the phone. Prussia snatched it out of his hands and pressed it to his ear.

"It's about time," Canada was saying. Prussia's heart squeezed suddenly, overwhelmingly. "I've been waiting to hear all about your day, Friedrich!"

Prussia felt relief wash over him, almost concealing the sting. He blushed.

"Come over in person, then," Prussia said, holding Freddy back with a well-placed hand to his forehead. Freddy's arms spun, pinwheeling in his attempt to take back the phone. "Freddy is supposed to be taking a bath right now."

"Oh, Gilbert!" Canada said, embarrassingly cheerful. "I hear that we're getting married! We'll need to set a date."

Prussia's chest seized up again and he tried to reply, but it came out as a nonsensical string of noises rather than the coherent sentence he'd been aiming for. Freddy laughed, but Canada suddenly went quiet.

"I wouldn't mind moving in until Friedrich has gotten a little older, eh," Canada said softly. "I'm there every other weekend, anyway."

"West," Prussia managed. Canada made a soft, dismissive sound.

"He would understand," Canada said. "Now get Friedrich back in the bathtub before you both catch your death of cold."

Prussia stared numbly at the results of his blood work. He was still in the driveway; he had to pick up Freddy in an hour. However long he stared at the results, he couldn't quite grasp it. Germany would understand them, one way or another—he'd be able to decipher the doctor's messy scrawl and put the note into simple, easy-to-understand terms.

Slowly, Prussia realized that there was another car in the driveway—not Germany's car. A rental car. Swinging his door open, Prussia staggered out of his old car and stumbled toward the front door, crushing the results in his hand. He fumbled six times before managing to get the key in the lock and twice more before managing to open the door.

"I'm home," Prussia said, startled by his own voice. There was a rustling in the living room—a guest?

"Welcome home," Prussia heard. Canada's voice. Prussia tossed the car keys onto the counter, missing the key hook, and stumbled toward the fridge. He needed a beer. After grabbing one, he found that he didn't have the strength to open it, so he wandered into the living room. Canada was sitting on the couch; at his feet lay piles of boxes and suitcases. Prussia looked up at him, half holding out the beer, not quite comprehending.

"Hey," Prussia said. His voice sounded softer than he'd expected, but he couldn't find his voice. A lump rose in his throat. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Doctor's appointment."

"I heard," Canada said. "Let me see."

Prussia handed him the crumpled results, and Canada smoothed them. Prussia sank into a nearby easy chair, huddling around his unopened can of beer. He hadn't drunk much since he'd brought Freddy home. Suddenly he wanted to call up France and Spain and go out on the town—get so blindingly drunk that he wouldn't be able to remember the last week.

Canada was looking at him.

"I'm staying," Canada said. His voice was firm and unwavering. "I've brought all of my things."

Prussia stared at him, then licked his parched lips. "They think I've got about eight years left at the very most," Prussia whispered. "I won't even make it past Freddy's thirteenth birthday."

"I know," Canada said, not hesitating, not looking away.

"There's something wrong with my immune system," Prussia continued. "It never developed like a normal human's—they don't understand the physiology of nations well, but they think it's got something to do with never having gotten sick from actual germs. It overreacts to some harmless things while letting through the dangerous ones. It doesn't know what to do."

"I read it, Gilbert," Canada insisted. "I'm still staying."

"They don't expect me to live more than five years, Mattie!" Prussia snapped, clutching his beer so hard that his knuckles hurt. If he'd still been a nation, he would have crushed the can. "You're just—you can't!"

"Do you think," Canada began, his voice icy and sharp, "that I could ever forgive myself if I left you here to die all alone, without any comfort? Five years is nothing, Gilbert."

"That's exactly what I mean!" Prussia shouted, leaping to his feet. "You're just going to be miserable watching me fall apart." He turned and set the can of beer on the table, noticing how badly his hands were shaking. "You can't do that to yourself, Mattie. You and Lovino and Al should take Freddy in, and—"

Canada leapt to his feet and socked Prussia hard in the gut, knocking the breath right out of him. Prussia collapsed backwards onto his chair. He heard a pop and a fizz—Canada shoved the opened can of beer into his hand.

"No more self pity," Canada said, and Prussia tried not to notice the tears in Canada's eyes. "No more half-baked selflessness. You're going to grow a pair and kick yourself into shape. And I am not, under any circumstances, going to let you do this alone."

"So we're getting hitched?" Prussia coughed, sipping at the beer. A smile caught at the corner of Canada's mouth, breaking his defenses just enough that a tear got past his guard—it pooled in his eye, and, for an instant, his lip trembled.

"Yeah, sure," Canada said. "We can get hitched. Why not? It'd make Freddy's day."

"You've gotta be attracted to somebody if you're gonna marry 'em," Prussia said. He rubbed the spot that Canada had punched. "Man, you've got a mean right hook."

Canada looked at him, then—looked at him in a way that reminded Prussia that Canada wasn't France's little brother for nothing.

"Attracted?" Canada repeated. "Yeah, I think I could do that. Yeah."

Prussia remembered the way that he'd always wanted to drape an arm over Canada's shoulders and see whether it'd make anyone notice Canada, the way he'd wished that Canada had stuck around to keep him company after he'd dropped Freddy off at school. He remembered the way that Canada looked with a spot of flour on his nose, the way Canada cackled after telling a scary story, the way that Canada smelled faintly of maple even after a shower.

Prussia looked at Canada.

"I'm going to get old," Prussia said. "You're going to outlive me by at least a century."

Canada knelt in front of Prussia, reached up, and squeezed his hand.

"It's my heart," Canada replied. "I can break it if I want to."

Freddy sat in the corner of the playground, kicking his feet as he watched the other kids play. He had an ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach; Papa was late to pick him up, and so was Uncle Vash. Uncle Vash was almost always on time. Papa had never been late after promising something—not once, not ever. Most of the other kids were staying for after school activities—clubs or sports. Freddy thought he might want to try them someday, but mostly he wanted to hurry home to Papa.

Alexandra sat down beside him.

"Do you have cooties?" she asked. "I heard some of the other girls back home talking about them. They said that all the boys have them."

"I don't think so," Freddy said, frowning. "Is there a shot for it?" Alexandra thought hard for a moment, then nodded very slowly and seriously. "Papa said that I got all my shots."

"That's all right, then," Alexandra said, slipping into Italian. Her accent was improving, and she liked to practice it. "Why do you look so sad?"

"I'm worried about Papa," Freddy said, sighing as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He propped up his chin and scanned the horizon. "He went to the doctor a week ago, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Alexandra said. "Didn't he have to go back?"

"Yeah," Freddy said. "He went back today, and now he's late."

"Maybe the doctor is giving him medicine," Alexandra said. She grinned and turned to grab Freddy's hand, her red curls bouncing. "Don't worry, Freddy!" she said. "Doctors know just about everything. I'm sure they have a good medicine for him. And you can always kiss it better, like my mommy does."

"Kiss it better?" Freddy repeated.

"Where it hurts, you know?" Alexandra said, pointing to the band-aid covering her skinned knee. "Mommy just kisses it and—poof!—it's all better!"

"Huh," Freddy said. Uncle Vash's car pulled into the parking lot across the field, and Freddy leapt to his feet. "Thanks, Lexi!"

"See you on Monday!" she said, waving brightly. "Have a good weekend!"

"You, too!" Freddy shouted, taking off for the car. When he got there, he found Uncle Vash holding the door out for him, looking impatient.

"Your father is busy assisting Matthew," Uncle Vash said, addressing him in crisp German, motioning for him to get in the car. Freddy clamored in, and Uncle Vash shut the door before Freddy could say anything. Freddy buckled his seat belt and twiddled his thumbs until Uncle Vash got in the driver's seat.

"With what?" Freddy asked.

"Unpacking," Uncle Vash said, a faint blush on his cheeks. He sounded loathe to admit it.

Freddy gaped for an instant, then beamed.

"I was right!" he cheered. "Mattie is totally going to marry him! I knew it!"

Uncle Vash turned red to the roots of his hair.

"Whether he does or does not is none of my concern," Uncle Vash said, gripping the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles went white. "How was school today, Friedrich?" Freddy cringed—only Mattie and West were allowed to call him that. Uncle Vash was focused on the road, though, and didn't notice.

"It was fun," Freddy replied. "We talked about geography, and I knew more than anybody else in the whole class."

Freddy caught a proud smirk catch the corner of Uncle Vash's mouth before Uncle Vash could hide it. Uncle Vash had spent a lot of time with him over the summer discussing politics and geography and language. For a neutral country, Uncle Vash seemed to know a lot about the subject.

"Did they pull out a globe?" Uncle Vash asked, looking both ways and flipping on his turn signal. It'd be another twenty minutes before they got home; even though Uncle Vash always drove within the laws, he always got them places faster than Papa. Papa had mentioned it once—nations just seemed to slip through the cracks and find paths that humans couldn't.

"No, a map," Freddy said, remembering that Uncle Vash had asked him a question. "I found you on it! Papa's country is gone, though."

Uncle Vash swallowed hard, and Freddy realized he wasn't supposed to mention that part.

"I found West, though!" Freddy continued. "And Kiku, and Feli and Lovino, and everybody, really. Well, I don't know anybody from Africa or South America, but you showed me the pictures, and I remembered most of them. The teacher had to ask me to stop."

"Keep practicing until you can remember all of them," Uncle Vash said, then fell silent. They were traveling through a forest—somewhere that Freddy knew in his bones wasn't real any more. An old forest that had been cut down. A forest Uncle Vash remembered. Freddy closed his eyes—it didn't smell like exhaust or even smoke, just like plants and damp earth. Freddy opened one eye and saw that Uncle Vash was looking off into the distance. Freddy knew better than to disturb him.

Ten minutes, Freddy guessed, and he'd be home. Mattie was going to move in, and Papa was going to have all of the medicine he needed, and they were going to eat pancakes for dinner. He never asked, but Mattie always knew when he wanted them. Mattie made sure he ate vegetables most of the time, but he wasn't that strict.

Were Mattie and Papa going to have a real, bonafide wedding? Freddy tried to imagine it and couldn't. Maybe they would just skip right to the being married part. It'd be like a sleepover, only Mattie wouldn't have to leave when the weekend ended.

Freddy dozed, resting his head against the window. Someday he'd catch up to his aunts and uncles, and he'd get married, too. He thought about Lovino and grinned. They'd stay up late and watch movies together and eat together all the time. They'd have sleepovers every night and Lovino would tell him stories.

The car slowed to a stop, and Freddy roused, blinking to clear the sleepiness from his eyes as he fumbled with his seatbelt. He'd have to ask Lovino to marry him soon, he decided. He hopped out of the car and thanked Uncle Vash. If he didn't ask first, somebody else was bound to do it soon.

"Friedrich!" Mattie called, waving from the doorway. He had flour on his hands, which he wiped off onto his apron. "Welcome home!"

"Until Monday," Uncle Vash said, and he almost smiled as Freddy grinned and waved goodbye to him. Freddy turned and ran up to Mattie, grinning.

"So you're gonna get married, right?" Freddy asked, switching automatically to English. "Are you going to have a wedding and a honeymoon or just skip to the being married part? Are you going to change your last name? Is Papa? Are we going to stay here or move to Canada? And can I call you Vati?"

"How about Dad?" Mattie said, chuckling. He turned back and called into the house, "Your son has some questions for you!"

"For both of you!" Freddy insisted, pouting. "And now I'm going to be both of your sons, aren't I? If you're my dad, too?"

Mattie looked down at Freddy and suddenly grabbed him, pulling him in for a hug. Freddy hugged him back until he realized, after a moment, that Mattie was crying.

"What's the matter?" Freddy asked, trying to pull back, but Mattie just held him tighter. "Is something wrong?"

"Right now, Friedrich?" Mattie whispered. "Right now, everything in my life is just perfect."

They hadn't told Freddy the results of the doctor's visit. Prussia looked over at Canada, who was pulling on flannel pajamas. Freddy threw open the door and raced in, wearing his favorite pajamas, which were lightweight and completely done in his favorite shade of blue. Prussia thought of Freddy's toy Vespa and realized that he finally had time to fix it up while Freddy was at school.

"You make the best pancakes ever, Dad," Freddy said, leaping onto the bed. "Om nom nom! I could eat fifty of them!"

"You'd make yourself sick," Canada said. Prussia saw Germany pause in the hallway, and Prussia got up, ruffling Freddy's hair as he passed him. Canada followed Prussia's gaze and nodded. "What language do you want to read in tonight, Friedrich?"

Prussia closed the door behind him and motioned for Germany to follow him. They ended in the living room. Freddy had left a few bottles of paint out on the table; Prussia picked one up and turned it over and over in his hands, sinking into a chair. Germany sat across from him.

"I read the results, Brother," Germany said. Prussia sighed.

"Then you know I haven't got long," Prussia said, looking down at his hands, remembering a time when Germany had painted on his back for want of paper. A lump rose in his throat, making it hard to breathe. "Look, West, there are—there are some things I should have told you a long time ago."

"Brother," Germany began, but Prussia held up his hand.

"I thought about taking the truth with me to the grave," Prussia said, "but I don't like it. Do you know where I found you?"

"I appeared, I assume," Germany said, narrowing his eyes. "Like all nations do."

"No," Prussia said. "I found you on the battlefield. Your face was almost entirely covered with burn scars. You could barely move. No human could have survived—I think I knew that then, too. I took you home. I healed you. I was lonely. You were lonely. I—I tried to be a good big brother."

"What does this have to do with—"

"The Holy Roman Empire had just gone missing," Prussia continued, talking over him. "I didn't think anything of it; we all knew that he was going to go, even though he was just a little guy. But then your hair starting growing back in, and you healed, and I recognized you. You started off as the Holy Roman Empire. I could have told someone—anyone, really. Feli was worried sick. But—" Prussia's voice caught in his throat. "Do you know why I call you West?" Prussia asked. "Not Ludwig?"

"...No," Germany said slowly. "I never thought about it."

"I wanted you to live," Prussia said. "I sort of knew that it'd work out like this someday—that's just how things go. Countries rise and fall. I didn't want you to be the Holy Roman Empire, because that empire was hardly even an empire, and it was falling apart. You would have died. So I sowed the seeds. Things were happening, and when you get older, you notice the patterns."

"And West...?"

"Reminds me that you're going to keep living," Prussia said. Silence fell. Prussia shifted awkwardly. "I should have told you that I knew where you'd come from, West, even if I didn't tell anyone else."

"...Feliciano will cry," Germany said softly. Prussia nodded. Germany closed his eyes and picked up a bottle of paint. He gripped it hard enough that the plastic began to bend before he released it and put his face in his hands. "I want to get a second opinion, Brother. Five years, even eight years—it's nothing."

"It's all I've got left," Prussia said. "You know my doctor personally. What other doctor understands anything about the nations? Or has the necessary security clearance to learn?"

"I can't give up on you so easily!" Germany snapped, digging his fingers into his scalp. "It is my fault that Prussia was dissolved. It is my fault that you are dying. It's intolerable. It's unbearable."

Prussia sighed and got up, sitting on the couch beside Germany. He pulled Germany toward him, holding him and patting his back.

"It'll be okay, kiddo," Prussia said. "Shh, shh." Germany stifled a sob, and Prussia's throat constricted. The last time Germany had cried in front of him had been more than sixty years earlier—when he'd learned what Hitler had been hiding from him. Prussia rubbed Germany's back, trying to ease all of the stress and tension that was knotted up in the muscles. "It isn't your fault. It's the way that the world works."

Germany buried his face into Prussia's shoulder, and Prussia remembered a third time that Germany had cried in front of him—when Prussia had returned from battle victorious, but not without cost to himself and his troops. Germany had buried his face in Prussia's shoulder then, too, and begged him to stop fighting. It's the way the world works.

"I don't want you to die," Germany said, his voice thick.

"You have lots of allies," Prussia said. "Friends. You're grown up, and you don't need me."

"I do need you, Brother," Germany insisted. "I can't—"

"Who'd be there to drink all your beer, right?" Prussia cut in, trying to chuckle. "Who would turn half of the cans around in the pantry so that they aren't facing the same way? Who'd baby the dogs and teach them tricks with the last of your wurst?"

Germany laughed, suddenly; it sounded almost like a sob. He pulled himself up and wiped his eyes.

"Who would tear out the best pages in my magazines and then use them as kindling?" Germany asked. Prussia looked him in the eye and realized that he was serious. "And who would keep me from working until eight in the morning?"

"Feli could," Prussia said gently. "I—I think it's time that I move out. Feli could move in." Germany's face fell; before he could speak, Prussia continued. "There's this place in Canada called New Prussia," Prussia explained. "I'd need to talk to Freddy about it, but I thought that, well, it might be a good place to live. It might be good for my health."

Germany swallowed, looking at his hands.

"You could visit every weekend," Prussia said. "But you've all got to get used to living without me."

Freddy was still awake when Prussia returned to his room. He grabbed his own pajamas and pulled them on as he listened to Canada read Freddy a story in Hungarian. That'd be one benefit of living in Canada—there were hundreds of languages in use there. Freddy would get a lot more practice. Prussia flopped down on his side of the bed, even though it made his back crack unpleasantly; as expected, Freddy shrieked with delight as he bounced up.

"The end," Canada said, using English.

"Now can I ask my questions?" Freddy asked, looking at both of them. Prussia and Canada looked at each other, and Freddy crossed his arms. "Friedrich, how about some pancakes, eh?" he said, mimicking Canada's voice. "Freddy, don't you want whipped cream on your ice cream?" he said, effecting Prussia's voice. He sat up and looked seriously at the both of them. "I can tell that you're not saying something. Jeeze."

Canada looked at Prussia, who sighed.

"You caught us," Prussia said, ruffling Freddy's hair. Freddy grinned. "All right, kiddo. What do you want to ask us?"

"Are you going to have a wedding and honeymoon and everything?" Freddy asked. "Or are you going to skip right to the being married part?"

Prussia and Canada shared a glance.

"We're skipping right to the being married part," they answered, completely in unison. Freddy nodded thoughtfully.

"Okay," he said. "But where are we gonna live? Here? Canada?"

Prussia looked at Canada again and bit his lip.

"What do you want to do, Freddy?" Prussia asked, twisting to lay on his side. "Would you mind moving?"

Freddy leaned back against the headboard, his brow furrowed in thought.

"I have friends at school," he admitted. "But I like Canada, and I think it'd be kind of weird if me and you and Dad and West all lived here."

"Nations won't visit as often if we move to Canada," Canada said seriously.

"But your job is in Canada. That's what you always told me when I asked you to stay before," Freddy said, propping his chin on his knees. "And Uncle Al will visit us," Freddy said. His voice took on a slightly worried tone as he looked up at Canada. "Will Lovino still visit?"

Canada glanced at Prussia, then sighed. "I think so. He doesn't forget me as often as he used to."

We're hastening the process, Prussia thought suddenly. Panic flooded him as he thought of Italy's concerned face—of the way that Romano hardly jumped when Canada appeared, and even remembered his name.

Freddy's face had cleared up—he looked considerably relieved.

"Okay," Freddy said. "If Lovino can visit, then sure. Let's move to Canada."

"Are you sure, Friedrich?" Canada asked. "Most of Europe won't be able to visit as often as you're used to—"

"I'm going to school now," Freddy said firmly. "They can't come every week anyway. The week doesn't pass the same anymore."

"I serve lots of vegetables," Canada said, "You're going to eat a lot of different foods."

"That's okay," Freddy said. "As long as I get pancakes every weekend!" Freddy opened his mouth to say something else, then looked at Prussia. "You want to move to Canada, right, Papa?"

"That's up to you, Freddy—" he began, but Freddy just crossed his arms and looked at Prussia, who started chuckling. "Okay, okay. Yeah, I do."

"New Prussia is in Canada," Freddy said, nodding. "I found it on the map that Uncle Vash taught me with. That was your country, wasn't it, Papa?"

"My country," Prussia repeated, the laughter leaving him. "Yeah. Prussia was my country. It was the most awesome country in the world."

"I want to live in Papa's country," Freddy said. "When can we move?"

"Well, any time," Canada said, slowly. "I just have to arrange a school for you, Friedrich."

"Okay," Freddy said, nodding. "Then I have another question—are you gonna take Papa's name? Is Papa gonna take your name? Whose name do I get?" Freddy looked up at Prussia and Canada. "Freddy Williams? Friedrich Beilschmidt? Lexi had a really hard time saying my last name—and her last name is her mom and her dad's last names combined." He bit his lip. "Friedrich Beilschmidt-Williams? Williams-Beilschmidt? I just don't know."

"Uh," Prussia stammered, looking at Canada, who seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh. "My name isn't a big deal; I just picked it a century or two ago when people started asking for it."

"Same," Canada said. "Freddy, what name do you want?"

"I just told you that I don't know," Freddy said. "Should we just make up a new name? Specially made just for our family?"

"Aww," Canada murmured, patting Freddy's hair. "That's a sweet idea, eh. Why don't you think up a name for us, then?"

Prussia glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten, and Freddy's bedtime was at eight.

"You're up way past your bedtime, kiddo," Prussia said. "Maybe you should sleep on it."

Freddy leaned into Canada's hand as Canada ruffled his hair. Some of the hyperactivity and nervousness seemed to give way in Freddy, and he closed his eyes.

"I can really make it myself? No matter what it is?" Freddy asked.

"Within reason," Prussia said. "We aren't going to be Team Awesome."

"Freddy Awesome," Freddy chuckled. "Okay. G'night. I love you, Papa. I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too," Canada said, standing to tuck Freddy in and kiss his forehead. "Sleep well."

"Good night, kiddo," Prussia said. "I love you, too. You're awesome beyond all reason, even if it isn't your last name."

Freddy chuckled a little as he burrowed under the covers.

"You gonna sleep in the guest room with Dad?" Freddy asked. Prussia flushed. "I don't mind sleeping alone tonight. Just let Demeter in, okay?"

"Her litter box is gonna stink," Prussia said, but Freddy just smiled. Prussia stood up just as Freddy's breathing evened out. Prussia almost chuckled—he was out like a light.

Prussia stretched out beside Canada in the guest room, feeling kind of awkward. The lights were out, but Canada's laptop glowed softly, casting a pale glow on much of the room. A desk stood against the wall. This had been Germany's office once, before Prussia had moved in—now Germany's office and bedroom were combined, and the office had been converted into a guest room.

"I think it'll be good for Germany," Prussia said softly. Canada paused in his typing before continuing. "Do you really think this is a good idea, Mattie?"

"Yes," Canada said, not looking away from the computer screen. "I've already downloaded all the paperwork; I'm filling it out right now. We can get married at city hall, eh? No big ceremony. No fuss."

Prussia's shoulders and neck ached. He tried to crack them, but they were stubborn and stiff. He sighed instead.

"Nobody's asking you to—" Prussia began, but Canada leveled his gaze on him, looking over his reading glasses.

"Gil," Canada said. His voice was soft, but Prussia felt warmth rise in his cheeks. "You never asked me why I want to help you."

"You're just—you're nice. That's all," Prussia said, twisting to face the other direction and hide his embarrassment.

"I was hoping your answer would be, 'Duh. Because I'm the hottest thing on two legs,'" Canada said, a smile in his voice. "That would've been a lot more true."

Prussia froze, then rolled back over to look up at Canada, who was shutting his laptop.

"Look, if you're teasing me, this is a sh—ty day for..." Prussia began, but Canada set the laptop down over the side of the bed, shaking his head.

"I'm not teasing," Canada said, pulling off his glasses and setting them on the bedside table. "Go on. Ask me why I'm helping you."

"Why are you helping me?" Prussia asked, his mouth suddenly dry. Canada laid down, pulling up the covers as he rolled onto his side and looked Prussia in the eye. A light outside the window above the bed was all the light Prussia had to work with, but he thought he saw an exasperated smile on his face.

"Do you remember that day that we first really met?" Canada whispered.

"When I mocked England for calling you America?" Prussia asked. Canada nodded. "Sure I do. England's there, yelling at you about something that America did, and everybody else was wrapped up in their own conversations, so nobody was bothering to get him to shut up."

"That morning, Russia had sat on me twice, France had passed me in the hall without recognizing me at all, Sealand had successfully impersonated me for the third time, and no one had noticed me at all until England mistook me for America," Canada said. "I'm pretty used to it by now, but France usually notices me once England does that. He didn't, that day. And then you really saw me—you saw me and recognized me and got England to shut up."

"And then I hauled you out of the room to get you to buy me some food at the restaurants upstairs," Prussia said, remembering. Canada smiled.

"You said, 'You smell like maple syrup—I bet that you love pancakes, Mattie!' And then you made me buy you pancakes."

"And now you want to help me to get me back for being a total jerk?" Prussia asked, chuckling under his breath. Canada shook his head, laughing.

"Even France and Al never remembered that I liked pancakes. I'd never even talked to you before. Maybe it was stupid, but when you said, 'Your pancakes are probably a hundred times better than these. You should make me some,' and then somehow followed it up with, 'Also, you were a real BAMF during World War II. Thanks for kicking my a—; I totally deserved it,' I just..." Canada trailed off, covering his eyes with his palms. "You're really something else."

"I did say that, didn't I?" Prussia said, laughing. "Man, I forgot all about that part. The only other part that I remember is that you somehow got powdered sugar on your nose and then cursed them for daring to put powdered sugar instead of maple syrup on pancakes. And then, when you looked at their maple syrup bottle, it was just maple-flavored high fructose corn syrup or something." Prussia remembered Canada's fury and cracked up all over again, clutching at his sides.

Canada bapped him on the head with the pillow, and Prussia stole the blankets from him in retaliation. They tussled for a moment before they finally collapsed in their original places, a little more disheveled than when they'd begun. Canada rolled onto his side and looked earnestly at Prussia.

"What I'm trying to say, Gil, is that I love you," Canada said. "Even when it sounds stupid. You're a good dad, a good friend, and I think you'd be a good husband, too. I might've popped the question even if Freddy hadn't suggested it, and even if you had another fifty years left."

Prussia went quiet for a minute, crossing his arms behind his head and looking up at the ceiling, deliberating. Then he turned again, leaning closer to Canada.

"You've gotta be attracted to somebody if you're gonna marry 'em," Prussia said softly.

"Attracted?" Canada said, just as he had in the living room earlier in the day. "Yeah, I think I can do that. Yeah."

Prussia leaned in and kissed Canada on the lips, then pulled back, resting his forehead against Canada's.

"I think that I can, too."

Freddy watched the adults carry box after box into Mattie's—no, Dad's house. Now Freddy and Papa's house, too. Home to the Smith family! (Freddy had wanted to be a family of secret agents; what name was more secret agent-y than Smith?) That box was labeled books, as were the four that followed it; Demeter squirmed in Freddy's arms, but she'd wailed when he'd left her in the bathroom, and she wasn't allowed to roam around outside. He scooped her up like a baby, even though she was fat and heavy, and she curled against his chest.

Feli, West, and Uncle Al carried boxes labeled curios, cookware, misc—where was that box? Freddy tapped his foot, frowning as he tried to read all of the boxes rushing past. He'd only remembered it halfway through the plane ride over to Canada, and even though it was Uncle Al's plane, he hadn't been allowed in the cargo bay. That was one of his new plane words—Freddy had decided to become a pilot during the plane flight, even though it made Papa airsick.

There—Freddy's Special Things, written in his own handwriting! Lovino was carrying it—Freddy's tummy got fluttery, but he ran up to Lovino anyway.

"Lovino!" Freddy said. Lovino nearly dropped the box as he spun, looking for Freddy. "I need that box!"

"Your papa told me to put it in your room, and that's what I'm gonna do," Lovino said, hefting the box back up onto his hip. "You're too little to carry it up all those stairs yourself."

Freddy searched briefly for Papa—there, by the van, leaning against Dad for support, telling everyone where the boxes should go. Freddy frowned, turning back to Lovino, but Lovino was already on his way through the door.

"Wait!" Freddy shouted. "I really need something in that box!"

Feli paused in the doorway to watch, blocking Lovino's path. Freddy darted forward and held out Demeter. Feli took her, tilting his head to one side in confusion. West stopped midway between the van and the front door, and Freddy looked up at Lovino. All he could see was the box that blocked Lovino's face.

"Oh, fine," Lovino said, kneeling down and setting the box on the cement path that led up to the door. Freddy swallowed as Lovino pulled out a knife and sliced the tape open. "What is it that you need so badly that you can't wait until we get to the top of the stairs?"

As soon as the box was open, Freddy dove forward, rummaging through its contents. Precious gifts, artwork—where was it? Where was it hiding?

Finally, his hands closed around it, buried beneath Piyopiyo and a top hat he used for magic tricks. He closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and pulled it out of the box. He dropped down to one knee, like he'd seen people do in movies, and held out the little, velvet box.

"Ti amo, mi vuoi sposare?" Freddy asked. I love you; will you marry me? He realized after a split second that the box was still shut and pulled it back, fumbling with it until it was open. He checked to make sure that the ring was still there and held it out again. Several long moments passed before he dared to look up Lovino. Lovino was just—just gawking at him! Freddy looked down at the pavement again, licked his lips, and waited.

And waited.

"Well?" Feli asked, leaning over Freddy's shoulder. Freddy could hardly breathe. "I don't think he's joking, Lovino."

"Feliciano! Butt out!" Lovino snapped. Freddy winced for a moment, hesitated, then slowly looked up at Lovino. He wasn't gawking any more, but he wasn't reaching to take the ring, and his expression was—was something that Freddy couldn't understand. Freddy felt his eyes start to sting, and he fought the feeling as hard as he could. Lovino smiled at him, but it was wistful, not happy.

"Grazie," Lovino said, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "But you're five, Freddy."

"I mean it!" Freddy said, knocking Lovino's hand away—it was condescending; it meant you're just a kid, and you don't know what you're talking about. Despite his best efforts, his lower lip trembled and tears began to bud in his eyes. He bit his lip to keep it from trembling, but it didn't stop the hurting in his chest. "I wanna marry you, Lovino!"

Lovino froze, his arm still outstretched. He started to look panicked as tears welled up in Freddy's eyes; he looked around frantically, like he was looking for somebody to save him.

"You always tell me that you love me!" Freddy said, hiccuping. "I thought—I th-thought that..." Freddy reached up to scrape the tears off. He hadn't been romantic enough. He hadn't proposed right. And now Lovino was never going to marry him! It felt like he'd been punched in the chest—he remembered that angry man, the one who'd shouted at him and broken his nose when he wouldn't stop stuttering. That pain had last for weeks. This felt like it would last forever. Freddy hiccuped once, and the dam broke; he started to sob.

"Hey, kiddo," Uncle Al said, swooping down out of nowhere. Freddy tried to push him away, but he dropped the ring box, and Uncle Al pulled him in for a hug. Even though Freddy wriggled and wriggled, he couldn't get free. Finally, he gave up and went limp, hoping Uncle Al would drop him. Instead, Uncle Al patted his back. "It's okay, Freddy. Romano just doesn't know how to tell you that you have to be at least eighteen to get married."

"Nuh uh!" Freddy said, sniffling.

"Here you do," Uncle Al said, pulling back to set Freddy back on his feet, but he kept a grip on Freddy's shoulders. Freddy sniffed, searching Uncle Al's eyes for the truth. He looked serious—maybe it was actually true.

"But why?" Freddy asked. "I already love him. Why do I have to wait a bajillion years?"

Uncle Al sighed, but a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

"Sometimes laws don't make sense," Uncle Al said. "But it wouldn't be heroic to break 'em, would it?"

Freddy sniffed and looked down at his shoes—the shoes Lovino had bought him—and he nodded, "Yeah," he said, reluctantly, "Okay. I guess."

Uncle Al clapped him on the shoulder, and Freddy looked up to see him flash Freddy a grin before standing up.

"Back to work!" he said. "All hands on deck!" He glanced at Lovino and narrowed his eyes. "Well, except Romano. I think he needs to chit chat with Freddy."

"But—" Lovino began, but Feli had already gone inside, and West was picking his box up again. Lovino swallowed, then stooped down to pick up the ring box. He dusted it off on his pants, and made as though to give it back, but Freddy threw his hands up in the air.

"Hold onto it," Freddy said quickly. "Until I turn eighteen. I'll do my very best to turn into a good husband for you, so you'd better not lose it!"

Lovino smiled, and this time he actually looked kind of happy.

"Whatever makes you happy," Lovino replied. He tucked the box into his pants pocket and dusted off his hands. "Come on," he said, hefting the box back up onto his hip. He shot Freddy a grin that made Freddy feel happy and nervous all at once. "Help me get you moved in!"

Prussia lay in bed, curled up around his pillow. The inside of his right elbow itched unbearably. The skin there was red and thick like a scab—he wasn't allowed to scratch it. The doctors called it eczema; the medicine was a steroid cream that hurt his pride. He tried to ignore it. There was a pain just behind his left eye, like a needle was slowly grinding away into the bone. He'd already taken as much acetaminophen as he was allowed to; the pain hadn't dulled at all, although his fever had fallen from 40ºC at last. He was covered in a thick, cold sweat.

"Mattie," Prussia called weakly. His body ached—from his fingers to his arms to his shoulder to his back, everything ached. He couldn't breathe around the pain and tightness in his lungs; he coughed and coughed into the pillow. When he looked down at it, he saw some blood flecks; he was too weak and exhausted to shudder, but he lifted his head as much as he could. "Mattie," Prussia called again. It brought out another round of coughs that shook his body so badly he trembled at the end of them.

Canada came to the door, a steaming mug in his hand.

"Peppermint tea," Canada said, setting it down on a coaster on the bedside table. He sat down beside Prussia, grabbing the thermometer. Prussia opened his mouth obediently, closing his eyes as he waited for the familiar beep that signaled bad news. The inside of his elbow itched and itched; the piercing pain behind his left eye was without mercy.

"Thirty-eight degrees," Canada said, worry furrowing his eyebrows. "How are you feeling?"

Like sh—t, Prussia didn't say.

"I'm not freezing, and the room isn't quite on fire at the moment," Prussia said, wishing his voice would just be steady. He hid the blood on the pillow as he adjusted position slightly. "Better than before," he said. It was a struggle to keep the tickle in his throat from becoming another cough; his throat was dry, too dry.

"You need to eat dinner tonight, or you're not going to be able to take your iron pill," Canada said softly. "Do you feel up to eating?"

No, Prussia bit his tongue at the sudden swell of nausea. "Maybe," he said. He had to remind himself not to scratch his arm. "What're we having?"

Canada looked at him for a long, slow moment.

"You threw up the soup," Canada said. Prussia remembered hobbling to the bathroom, and Canada holding his hair out of his face; bile rose in his throat. "And the bread, and the cereal."

"I kept down the mac and cheese," Prussia replied. The cough finally rose out of his chest, and he hacked and gasped into the pillow, willing his body to stop convulsing. Canada nodded.

"That's why we're having mac and cheese again tonight," Canada said, getting to his feet. "Drink your tea; it'll help your throat."

Prussia tried to snatch the bottom of Canada's shirt, but his hand was too slow; he reached in vain, finally letting his hand drop. Canada looked down at him, concern all over his face.

"Do you want some company?" Canada asked.

"When I'm having way too much fun all alone?" Prussia asked, laughing weakly. The laughter quickly turned into coughs, and he paused for a moment to focus on breathing. "Nah. Don't worry."

Canada sighed, sitting back down on the bed.

"We've been married for more than a year, Gil," Canada said. "I know that's your code phrase for, 'Please play video games with me.' What game do you want to play?"

Prussia suppressed the urge to chuckle; his lungs still hurt from his last attempt.

"Well, Freddy did want us to be secret agents; we need all the secret codes we can get," Prussia said. His throat tickled; his arm itched; his eye hurt. He swallowed, hoping to ease at least his throat. "I feel like being an air pirate today," Prussia continued. "Let's beat Skies of Arcadia again."

As Canada set up the TV at the foot of the bed, Prussia slowly and painstakingly sat up. Every bone and joint in his body resisted—the ache made the pain behind his eye flare up, and he gritted his teeth, easing back down. When Canada came to sit on the bed, Prussia lifted his head, and Canada scooted his legs under Prussia's head, placing his own pillow on his lap so Prussia could keep clutching his own as he settled down.

"You're the best, Mattie," Prussia mumbled, his eyes slipping closed as the opening music washed over him. He coughed into his pillow, and Canada stroked his hair.

"Which save file do you want to start from?" Canada asked. Prussia had a habit of saving constantly, usually in different save files; when they went back to games, they could skip around and play only the parts he liked best.

"The beginning," Prussia answered. "It's been forever."

"And you're only two days into swine flu," Canada said, nodding as Prussia opened his eyes and looked up at him. "I wonder if we can beat the whole game in a week?"

"Freddy's never played it all the way through with us," Prussia said, frowning a little. "Should we wait for him?"

"Nah," Canada said. "I think he should play it on his own when he's a little older."

"Okay," Prussia said. His arm itched, and the pain behind his eye was almost blinding. "We should've let him name us Team Awesome."

Canada chuckled.

"Can you imagine?" Canada asked. "Hello, this is Matthew of Team Awesome." Canada laughed and selected New Game.

"Aye, matey," Prussia replied, effecting his best impression of England from his pirate days. "But now it be time for air piracy!"

"Thanks for coming," Canada told Romano. Romano looked to one side, not quite meeting Canada's eyes; Canada looked disheveled and exhausted. "He's through the worst of it, I hope, but it's dangerous for little kids if they catch it, and Freddy is going out of his mind with boredom."

Romano nodded, and Canada ushered him into the house.

"I'll see you later, then, eh?" Canada said, raising a hand in parting as he turned away. "Freddy's in the living room. Have fun!"

"Good luck," Romano muttered under his breath. Canada vanished up the stairs, and Romano shut the door behind him. He sank against the wood for a moment, closing his eyes.

Even Veneciano didn't remember what exactly had happened to Grandpa Rome. To Veneciano, it was as though he'd disappeared. He'd managed to make himself forget the lesions that blossomed across Grandpa Rome's shoulders and chest, the foul-smelling pus that had oozed from the. The way his muscles and bones and joints had given up. The way that every illness lasted a little too long, and grew a little too rough.

With the miracle of modern medicine, they were making Prussia last. Grandpa Rome had only made it through three such illnesses before succumbing to the inevitable. How long until Prussia's body gave up? There was something human about the exhaustion that had begun to seep into Romano's spine—something that scared Romano.

"Romano!" Freddy shouted. Romano stiffened, opening his eyes as Freddy threw his arms around Romano's knees. "So you're my babysitter? That's so awesome!"

"Hey, Freddy," Romano said, ruffling his hair. Freddy beamed, and Romano's heart clenched. Freddy wouldn't live forever, either. "What're we gonna do first?"

"I was playing with Demeter," Freddy explained, taking Romano by the hand and leading him into the living room. Demeter was curled up in a ball on the easy chair, fast asleep; Freddy pouted. "Well, we can just talk," Freddy said.

"Are you on winter break yet?" Romano asked. It was freezing this far north; Romano wished they could've all moved to Italy, instead. Freddy let go of Romano's hand to flop on the couch, sinking into the cushions.

"Yeah," Freddy said. "It took forever, but I still can't believe I'm halfway through first grade. That's what Uncle Al calls it—they call it grade one here."

"Are you still studying languages?" Romano asked. Freddy sighed.

"Not so much in school," Freddy admitted. "But Dad and Papa take me on day trips where we practice different languages, and I've been practicing kanji by emailing Kiku. Oh, and Uncle Al comes up all the time to practice everything with me."

"Doesn't that idiot only speak English?" Romano asked. Freddy chuckled.

"Only when other nations are around," Freddy said, leaning in conspiratorially. "He knows every language, Lovino! Like, every single one! He says that it's thanks to his immigrants." Freddy paused for a moment, screwing up his eyes in thought, before continuing. "You know, he told me that you all have a secret language."

"The Old Tongue," Romano said softly, nodding. "Yeah. We do."

"Can you teach it to me? Please?" Freddy begged, rolling over onto Romano's lap. He was getting heavier; Romano tried to nudge him off, but Freddy just made puppy eyes at him, and Romano rolled his eyes instead. "Come on, Lovino! Please?"

"I can't," Romano said, pushing Freddy off his lap. "We're born knowing it. It's not something you can teach."

Freddy sat up and pouted, crossing his arms in front of him as he sulked. It was a position that Romano recognized—it was his own pout. He almost laughed; he was a bad influence on the kid, after all.

"Can you at least say something in it?" Freddy asked, looking up at Romano with pleading eyes. "Anything at all?"

"Oh, all right," Romano said, crossing his own arms. "I'm just doing this to get you to shut up about it, okay? No more asking about it. It's a secret language, da—" he coughed, swallowing the curse word before it fully escaped. "Got it?"

Freddy nodded eagerly, and Romano cleared his throat. The Old Tongue hadn't been coming to him as easily lately.

Romano hesitated, looked at Freddy, and asked, "Wait, what do you want me to say?"

"Tell me you love me!" Freddy said, grinning. Romano tried not to roll his eyes, but he couldn't fight a grin of his own.

"All right," he said, gearing up to switch to the Old Tongue. "I love you."

Freddy stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. Romano blinked awkwardly. He'd never considered what the Old Tongue might sound like to a non-nation.

"That was so awesome!" Freddy shouted, startling Demeter—she scampered away into the kitchen. "Oh my gosh, Lovino, that was the coolest thing ever!" He threw his arms around Romano's neck and nearly knocked him over. "You're amazing!"

"Wh-what?" Romano stammered. "What did it sound like?"

"Like every language ever, all at once!" Freddy crowed. "Do it again, do it again!"

"Uh, I love you?" Romano said, in the Old Tongue. Freddy leapt off of Romano and whooped, spinning around in circles.

"Again, again!" Freddy sang, his smile wide enough to split his face.

Romano started to crack up, but managed one more, "I love you!" Freddy flopped backwards onto the floor and rolled around, stricken with delight. Romano was laughing too hard to breathe—the human-feeling in his chest was enormous and wonderful. Was this what Prussia had meant?

"I love you!" Freddy said, using Italian, "I love you! I love you! I love you!" English, French, Spanish. "I love you! I love you! I love you!" Freddy laughed, beaming at the ceiling—Japanese, Greek, German. "And a million more! All at once! That's the best thing ever! You have to teach me, Lovino! You have to!"

Romano couldn't stop laughing long enough to answer him. Freddy tossed a couch pillow at him, and Romano chucked it back. They plunged into a sudden pillow fight; when Freddy found that Romano had all of the pillows, he turned it into a tickle fight.

When Canada came down to check on them and get dinner started five hours later, he found them fast asleep in a pillow fort, a grin still tugging at the corner of Romano's mouth.

Prussia eased himself gently into his chair. His joints creaked, but the pain wasn't unbearable at the moment; even better, his eczema was under control, so he wasn't itchy. He let out a long breath, settling into his chair.

"Good morning," Canada said brightly, setting a platter of fresh, hot pancakes in front of him. Prussia examined them suspiciously.

"You didn't forget overnight that I'm allergic to basically everything now, did you?" Prussia asked. The scent of the pancakes made his stomach growl. Freddy clamored into the chair across from Prussia—at ten, he was just starting his first real growth spurt, and his pants only came down to a bit above his ankles. Prussia smiled as Freddy saw the pancakes and gasped.

"Pancakes!" Freddy whooped, pumping his fist into the air. "You're the best, Dad!"

"I didn't forget," Canada said, setting a plate in front of Prussia and settling into his own seat. "Wheat, milk, and eggs are out of the question, and you're kind of sensitive to soy. This recipe doesn't call for any of that."

"They aren't your usual pancakes, Dad?" Freddy asked. He prodded the stack he'd just piled onto his place, sniffed them, then shrugged. "They smell good, anyway."

As Freddy grabbed the syrup and started digging in, Prussia and Canada shared a look. Five years ago that morning, Prussia had gotten his first serious diagnosis. He looked down at his pancakes and grinned.

"That'll show 'em," Prussia said, setting some pancakes on his plate. "Hah! I'm still kickin'."

Prussia noticed Canada panic and look at Freddy, but Freddy was utterly unfazed.

"You're gonna make it to my thirteenth birthday, right, Pops?" Freddy asked.

"Like anything could stop me!" Prussia laughed. He took an experimental bite of pancake—not Canada's usual stuff, but good. They had bananas or something in them, and tasted a little too healthy for Prussia's liking, but if he added enough maple syrup, that didn't matter. "Even if I did kick the bucket before then, I'd just chill out as a ghost until your party. I don't go breaking promises, kiddo."

Canada looked at him pointedly, but Prussia just grinned at him.

"These are delicious," he said, his mouth full. "Thanks, Mattie."

"You sound like Uncle Al!" Freddy laughed. "Mmrph marr muh-riff-ish. Slurrrp!"

Canada cracked a smile, but Prussia knew the real problem. They'd gotten in the latest tests, and it looked like he wouldn't last one year, let alone three. But Prussia had always been a stubborn little pest, and he was determined to outlive the doctors' predictions. He was doing it already—they'd expected him to be dead by today, and here he was, eating pancakes. Darn good pancakes, too.

His back ached, but he knew by now that it wouldn't feel any better to crack it, so he let it be.

"How's school, Friedrich?" Canada asked him. Freddy grinned.

"Great," he said. "Lexi says her dad is getting transferred to Ontario next—I didn't tell her that Uncle Al arranged that, so don't make that face, Dad—so we'll finally be able to catch up in person instead of through Skype."

"That's wonderful," Canada said, reaching for the syrup. "Sometimes it's hard to believe that you two were only in the same class for a week."

"I bet I wouldn't have kept in touch if you hadn't suggested Skype, Dad," Freddy said. "It'll be weird to see her in person again."

"What about your friends at school?" Prussia asked. Freddy just shrugged, taking another bite of pancake. "Don't kids your age have sleepovers and stuff?"

"I like staying here better," Freddy said, a bit evasively. "Parties are for teenagers."

Prussia narrowed his eyes at Freddy, but Canada spoke first.

"Do you two want to go see a movie tonight?" Canada asked. "I think that there's an action flick, a romantic comedy, and a new Disney movie."

"Any horror movies?" Freddy asked, leaning forward eagerly. Canada grinned, and Prussia shuddered.

"Japan sent us some that haven't even been released yet," Canada admitted. Freddy beamed.

"Let's set up the projector and watch them in the basement!" Freddy shouted, punching his fist into the air. "That would be so awesome! Please, Pops? Dad won't do it unless you say that you want to, too."

Prussia grinned, then effected his very best Canadian accent, "I think that I would prefer to see the romantic comedy, eh," he said. "I heard that it's about—" Freddy made puppy eyes at him, and his composure broke; he cracked up. "Oh, fine," Prussia said. "Bring on the horror flicks! But only if we invite Al and Lovino; every horror movie is better when Al is freaking out about it."

"You're awful," Canada said, covering his mouth to hide his laughter.

"Yeah!" Freddy shouted, jumping to his feet. "I'll go call Lovino right now! What time is it in Rome?"

He darted out of the room, half a pancake still steaming on his plate. Canada got up to refill the pitcher of water and elbowed Prussia.

"Stop encouraging him!" Canada said, rolling his eyes.

"Aw, I can't help it," Prussia said, turning to watch Canada fill the pitcher. The sound of his back cracking as he breathed in a little too deeply was drowned out by the faucet. "You know he's had that crush for forever. You and Lovino may pretend that he's forgotten all about proposing to Lovino, but did you know that he stops and looks at the wedding magazines at the store when you're not looking? Or that he keeps a stack of lines for wedding vows in his sock drawer? He's not kidding, Mattie. Let him be in love."

"You're not going to be around to see him get rejected," Canada sighed. Prussia laughed, and Canada rounded on him. "I mean it, Prussia! You're putting Romano in—"

Prussia stood up and kissed Canada. His joints protested, but he wrapped his arms around Canada's waist.

When he pulled back, Canada looked exasperated.

"You can't just kiss me to shut me up, you know," Canada said. "I know all about your wily ways."

"It was worth a shot," Prussia grinned, kissing Canada's cheek. He adjusted so that Canada was bearing some of his wait as his bones creaked ominously. "Let an old man have his fun."

Canada rolled his eyes.

"You don't look a day over twenty-five," Canada said, but he turned to support Prussia's weight anyway. "Do you need your Viagra, old man?"

"Fine, fine, I'm not that old," Prussia laughed. "I take a lot of pills nowadays, but Viagra isn't one of them!"

Canada laughed as he helped Prussia walk slowly—painstakingly—toward the living room. Freddy's excited voice floated through the kitchen, and Canada sighed.

"I know that it seems innocent," Canada said, "but don't you think that it's going to hurt Freddy in the long run?"

"One of these days," Prussia replied, "Freddy is going to be the right age for Lovino. If my calculations are right, it's gonna be around the the time that Lovino starts to age. It took me a good seventy years to start turning human, and that was after I was actually dissolved officially as a state. Lovino has a lot longer life ahead of him than I do, Mattie."

"He's going to mourn—"

"But not forever," Prussia said. "And do you really think he wouldn't mourn, anyway?"

"You're going to break both of their hearts if you don't cut it out, Gil," Canada sighed. He looked weary.

"It's between them, that's all," Prussia said. "And it makes Freddy happy, and Lovino likes hanging out with Freddy. It's good for Feli to get used to not having him around all the time, too."

"What if he doesn't start aging?" Canada demanded.

"Then nothing much changes, does it?" Prussia answered, shrugging. They stood outside the living room door as Prussia caught his breath. His back and wrists and fingers ached, but his knees weren't so bad today. He breathed in and out, in and out.

Freddy was walking around with the cordless, a brilliant, lovesick grin on his face.

"Also," Prussia said, "Lovino had a crush on Antonio like that back in the day. You're underestimating him. I think it's good for things to come full circle."

Canada sighed for the third time, but Prussia caught the smile lurking at the edges.

"Now!" Prussia said, pulling away from Canada to stride into the living room. "Who's up for some horror flicks?"

"Let me help," Prussia demanded. "Come on, Mattie—at least let me hang up the other end of the banner."

Canada shared a look with America, who chuckled nervously. The banner sagged in the middle, but 13thand birthday were still readable.

"Gil," America said slowly, "I know that you want to help, but you're looking kind of pale. I think you should sit down."

Prussia leaned heavily on his walking stick, trying to pretend that his bones and joints weren't out to thwart him. His lungs weren't feeling so hot today, either. But he'd put up the birthday banner every year since Freddy had turned four—there was no way he was going to let them take that away from him. Canada recognized the look in Prussia's eyes and glared.

"Oh, no, you don't," Canada said. "Sit down immediately."

"But—"

"So help me, Gil, if you don't sit down and rest—"

"I've always done the banner!" Prussia protested. "Freddy's thirteenth birthday is two days away, and look at me! I don't look a day older, and I'm still on my feet."

"That's only because you refused to use the wheelchair," Canada snapped. "Al, can you carry him to the sofa?"

"Wheelchairs are a pain in the neck," Prussia said, but he was starting to feel lightheaded, and maybe even a little nauseous. His body begged him to sit down. "Come on, Mattie. Al can support me and everything. Just let me put up the banner."

Canada looked at Prussia staunchly. America was the one who sighed and caved.

"Just this once, Matt?" America asked. The pity in his eyes burned; Prussia straightened up, trying to look capable. "I think it means a lot to him."

"It's on your own head," Canada said, turning to pick up his corner of the banner. Prussia grinned, and America came over to help support him as he staggered over to the step stool. Prussia ignored his joints as they cracked and popped, but America passed him the other side of the banner so that he wouldn't have to stoop down to reach it. Prussia took it as firmly as he could and stretched to tie it to the hook in the wall—and there was a strange, uncomfortable pressure in his chest.

Prussia dropped the banner.

"Is he having an asthma attack?" Canada demanded, suddenly at Prussia's side. "He's short of breath and clutching at his chest—but there's no dust, no trigger!" Horror dawned across Canada's face. "Call an ambulance right now, Al!" Canada shouted, grabbing Prussia. Prussia watched America run off; his chest felt—odd. It wasn't quite pain. Fullness. Pressure.

"Oh, God," Canada whispered, carrying Prussia to the couch. Prussia laid down gingerly, his breaths coming up short, his joints protesting. "Gil. Gil, tell me what's wrong."

"Here," Prussia managed, tapping his chest. He coughed. "It's like—squeezing." He struggled to talk around the nausea and tightness. Canada's eyes squeezed closed, and a tear leaked out. Prussia realized, suddenly, what the symptoms meant. "Heart attack," he said simply.

"The paramedics will be here in three minutes!" America called, bringing the cordless into the room. He'd covered the receiver. "They want to know his condition."

"Chest discomfort in a patient with—oh, give me the phone!" Canada snapped, reaching for it. Once he had it, his response seemed calm and rehearsed. "Chest discomfort and shortness of breath in a patient with known heart failure."

"Nausea," Prussia added. Canada swallowed.

"Nausea," Canada added. "His condition has been relatively stable until now, yes. No, he doesn't have a pacemaker. Age?" Canada choked on the word, laughing even as tears budded in his eyes. "Oh, he doesn't look a day over 25."

Canada strode into his boss's office without an appointment, slamming his fists down on his boss's desk. His boss jumped, alarmed, but Canada spoke before he could.

"We need a Prussian Pride Parade!" Canada shouted, looking his boss dead in the eye. "Gil—Prussia's condition is weak, our son's birthday is in two days, and the doctor's convinced he won't last the hour."

"Then why are you—"

"I can't think of anything else!" Canada shouted. He'd already cried himself out, but his voice was hoarse. "Tell me how to set up a Prussian Pride Parade. I'll figure out how to do it in twenty minutes or less, but you have to tell me immediately!"

"Where've you been?" Prussia asked, looking at Canada. Canada looked harried and out of breath.

"How are you feeling?" Canada demanded. "Are you doing better? What do the doctors think?"

Prussia closed his eyes for a moment and thought. There was something almost new in his stomach—something at once intimately familiar and foreign. It took him a moment to recognize it.

"I'm—I'm partly a nation again," Prussia said, baffled. He poked his stomach. "What on earth?"

"Switzerland is picking up Freddy," Canada said, leaning forward to lay his head in Prussia's lap. "Everyone else is organizing the parade."

"The...parade?" Prussia repeated, raising an eyebrow. "And who's everybody else?"

"Everybody who came early for Freddy's birthday," Canada said. "Al, France, Spain, Romano, Italy, Germany, Hungary, Liechtenstein, Sealand, England, you know," Canada trailed off; he sounded exhausted. "Everybody."

"What parade?" Prussia asked. "Why am I partly a nation again?"

"The parade," Canada said, smiling up at Prussia, "is a Prussian Pride Parade. They gave me the permits to hold it for the next two days; after that it's booked by another group."

"So I can make it to Freddy's thirteenth birthday," Prussia said softly. "You know that you just helped me cheat death."

"I don't care if you had to cheat to make it," Canada said, sitting up to stretch. He got up to sit on the side of Prussia's hospital bed. "I did the cheating, not you. How are you feeling? Really?"

"You don't appreciate what you've got until it's gone," Prussia chuckled. He flexed his hands without pain for the first time in five years. "I feel awesome."

"Good," Canada said. "Thank God." He laughed, running a hand through his hair—Prussia got the impression that he was about to cry. "You stay just like that—keep feeling awesome while I go get the doctors to release you."

"Where's Pops?" Freddy demanded, bursting through the door. Dad sat on the couch in the adjacent living room; he had his head in his hands. Panic flared in Freddy's chest. "Why did Uncle Vash pick me up instead of you two? Is Pops okay?"

"Gil is fine," Dad said, but he looked tense. Something was wrong. "He's down in that secret workroom of his."

"Does he have his walkie talkie?" Freddy asked. Dad nodded, and Freddy whipped off his backpack, fishing around in it for his own walkie talkie. He punched the button to talk. "Pops? Pops, are you okay?"

"Freddy!" Pops answered. He sounded so energetic that Freddy pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. "I'll come up right now."

Freddy kept staring at the walkie talkie as he heard someone run up the basement steps. It couldn't be Pops; Pops hadn't been able to do more than hobble in years. And Dad was worried.

But it was, in fact, Pops who burst through the door from the basement. His red eyes had a mischievous glint to them, and he stood tall, not hunched over his cane. Freddy gaped at him as if he were a stranger—but somewhere in the back of his heart, a little voice cried, Papa! Up!

Pops ran forward, dragging Freddy into a hug. Freddy was too shocked to respond for a moment.

"I love you so much, Freddy," Pops whispered, kissing Freddy's hair. Tears suddenly welled up in Freddy's eyes, and he held Pops fiercely.

"What happened?" Freddy asked, dumbfounded. "How—this doesn't make any sense, Pops."

"I had a heart attack," Pops answered, pulling back to look Freddy in the eye. "But your dad over there started up a Prussian Pride Parade."

"Prussia," Freddy repeated numbly. "How long do you have, Pops? The parade can't last forever. If you overdo it, your body will..." Freddy swallowed as the word fall apart stuck in his throat.

"Until the night of your birthday," Pops said. Dread hit Freddy full in the chest. "See? I keep my promises."

Freddy looked up at Pops, then down at their hands.

"I love you, Papa," Freddy whispered, tears swelling in his eyes. "I don't want you to—to—"

"I've cheated death once already," replied, pulling Freddy in for a hug. "Let's just throw one last, awesome birthday party together. You'll have Mattie and Lovino and Al and Lizzie and all."

"But I won't have you," Freddy cried. "That's not fair!"

"I'm sorry, Freddy," murmured. He sounded like he really meant it. "Let's have a Papa and Me Day tomorrow."

"But Dad's going to miss you, too," Freddy sobbed.

Pops sank to his knees, pulling Freddy into his lap, even though he hardly fit any more. Freddy clung to Pops, burying his face in hiss neck and crying as Pops rubbed his back.

"It'll all be okay," Pops said. "You'll see, kiddo. It won't feel like it at first, but, when you're twenty or thirty, you'll see that it's not so bad."

"You're lying," Freddy said. He wanted to push Pops away, but he couldn't. He was angry and hurt, but the idea of pushing Pops away now was unthinkable.

Pops chuckled.

"Am not," Pops said. "Come on. Let's make this the most awesome birthday ever. If you mope the entire time, you're gonna break my heart!"

Freddy almost laughed as Pops fluttered his eyelashes and struck a dramatic pose.

"Fine," Freddy said, sniffing. "But if your allergies are really all gone, I want Dad's old pancakes for breakfast."

The party was a blur; the house was packed, and everywhere Prussia went, people were pulling him in for hugs and goodbyes. He did his best to keep the atmosphere light—it was a party, not his funeral—and finally Prussia couldn't take it. This party was supposed to be about Freddy, not him; he went down to his workroom to finish prepping Freddy's birthday present.

His will sat on the work table, covered by a last note to Freddy and Canada that he'd intended to be short, but had turned into a novella. He'd already made arrangements with the funeral home, too; when he kicked the bucket, the coffin, headstone, and service would already be arranged and paid for in advance. "RIP: The Last Prussian" was what he'd chosen to have underneath the name "Gilbert Beilschmidt-Williams Smith"—he'd never told Freddy or Canada, but he'd taken it as a middle name on his first anniversary with Canada. "I love you both," he'd commissioned in smaller text. "Freddy, Mattie, be awesome to each other." America loved that movie; he'd recognize that Prussia was saying goodbye to him, too, even if he'd replaced excellent with awesome. Artistic license.

Prussia stretched out his arms and cracked his knuckles. He felt even better than when he'd left the hospital, since the parade had really gotten started, but he could sense the human-feeling underneath it all. He was burning up what little it had left with this stunt.

Oh well. Freddy's gift was done; it was time to face the music.

"Here," Prussia said, holding out a small package to Freddy. Freddy looked at it, then at Prussia, before taking it.

Freddy unwrapped it, and the room went completely silent, as it hadn't for any of the other gifts. Freddy opened the present carefully, deliberately; the wrapping paper was perfectly preserved. Finally, he pulled out the little box and opened it.

"A key?" Freddy asked, looking up at Prussia as he pulled it out.

"To my secret workroom," Prussia explained. "When you're ready, go down there and you'll find your real present. But you should probably wait a few days."

France gulped audibly, and several other nations looked faint, but Freddy nodded.

"Okay, Pops," he whispered. He threw his arms around Prussia, and suddenly Prussia remembered a three-year-old, begging to be held, forever wanting to be tossed into the air—he hugged Freddy back, kissing his forehead.

"I hope you like it," Prussia whispered.

"I'm sure I'll love it," Freddy said fiercely. "I love you, Papa."

Prussia saw France struggling not to cry, and he wasn't the only one—even Spain looked serious. Canada looked strong and proud—people underestimated him, but Prussia knew exactly how much Canada could handle. Prussia closed his eyes and focused on his son—gangly and adolescent, with dirty blonde hair that never fell flat. He was growing up. Canada and Romano would be there for him. Germany would be there for him. As America had said once, a very long time ago, he had the world behind him.

"I love you, too, kiddo," Prussia whispered. "You're the most awesome kid a papa could ever have."

The parade ended at eight in the evening, but the glow of the pride it had stirred lasted until all of those who'd participated went to bed. At around four in the morning, the last one went to sleep, and Prussia awoke to a sudden, shooting pain in his chest. He grabbed Canada's shoulder, and Canada woke immediately. He grabbed the phone and had paramedics on the way in moments, but Prussia's body was closing in on him. The freedom of motion, the lack of pain—gone. His heart seemed to be overfull, insufficient.

Freddy and Canada both fit into the ambulance when it came, but Prussia felt himself slipping away—his heart was stuttering. Everyone sounded far away, as though they were all under water. Prussia laughed as darkness flooded his vision—laughed as long and loud as his lungs would let him.

He felt, dimly, the pressure of a defibrillator against his chest; his muscles spasmed against his will.

But he managed to grin at Canada and Freddy and wave goodbye just before he slipped away.

Freddy sat on the basement stairs, the key in his hands. His head felt stuffed up and sore from all the crying he'd done in the last three days. Pops had arranged everything without telling them; there was nothing to keep them busy, nothing to keep them from remembering.

Freddy stared at the key, turning it over in his hands. Pops had had a lot of private stuff—stuff he'd never let Dad see, even. He'd come down here for an hour or two every day. Freddy had always wondered what he'd been up to. Pops had been pretty weak by the end; sometimes he'd had to use his walkie talkie to get Dad to come help him back up the stairs.

Swallowing hard, Freddy got to his feet. He strode down the stairs and shoved the key into the key into the lock. It fit, and it opened easily. Freddy rested his head against the door for a moment, breathing in and out as he turned the doorknob. Finally, he swung the door open.

Carefully bound paper lined the shelves—not actual books, but homemade stacks of paper tied with twine. There was more paper than Freddy had ever seen in a single place; the shelves were three meters tall, and they took up every wall in the room, save one—the one with a worktable. Thousands and thousands of pages.

Freddy crept forward. The shelves were overwhelming, but he approached them. Carefully penned labels were affixed at intervals throughout the shelves. October 2010 read one. Then November 2010, and on and on—all the way until the present day. Freddy pulled out the first bound set of pages; it said Journal on the front. He opened to a random page in the middle. The entire thing was handwritten; Pops had better handwriting than anyone expected him to, and Freddy knew it better than his own—he'd tried to imitate it when learning his letters.

"The kid doesn't know how to say anything but hello, right?" he read aloud. Me, he realized. Pops was writing about me! "Well, today he called me Papa! I've been looking for his parents for weeks, but I don't think they'd appreciate him. I think I'll keep him."

Freddy shut the journal, pressing it against his chest—his heart was pounding so hard and fast that it scared him. He put it back on the shelf and went to the middle of the stacks.

"We had a Papa and the Awesome Me Day today," Freddy read, "Freddy, you're just the cutest! I took you to the zoo, and you won't believe what happened..." Freddy trailed off, flipping through the pages. Twenty or more pages describing the Papa and Me Day. Describing every day. It was an account of his entire life, all from the perspective of Pops. Eleven years of letters to the future Freddy.

He set the book back on the shelf, turning to face the worktable. There was an external hard drive on the table, sitting on a note.

"Kiku was awesome enough to type up all of this stuff and scan everything in for me," he read. "I hope that it helps; paper doesn't last forever, you know. He also scanned in all of the stuff under the worktable—" Freddy broke off, setting down the note to look underneath the worktable.

Al's Photos, Kiku's Photos (1), Kiku's Photos (2)... Photos and videos taken by every nation. Art Projects (1), Art Projects (2) … Report Cards.

He'd organized everything. Even stupid doodles that Freddy had done on napkins at restaurants were filed away. And they were all in that external hard drive—his childhood could fit into his backpack.

Freddy sat heavily on the workbench, staring into space. Footsteps echoed down the basement stairs.

"Freddy?" Dad called. The footsteps hesitated, then approached the door to the workroom. "Are you okay—?" Dad froze, staring at the room. He did the same check that Freddy had. Freddy stared at the pile of papers and the little envelope that were still sitting on the far end of the worktable. When Dad finished, Freddy got up and grabbed them.

"Hey, Freddy!" he read, his voice distant and shell-shocked. "I know, I know. I can go a little overboard sometimes. But there's more to your present. In that envelope," Freddy paused, looking down at the envelope and swallowing as he saw a key-shaped bump in it. "In that envelope," he began again, "is the key to a warehouse with all of my old journals. I've been keeping them since I first learned how to write. I guess that was about a thousand years ago, give or take a century. The directions to the warehouse are in the envelope, too." Freddy trailed off, flipped over the piece of paper, and handed it over to Dad.

"He left a copy of his will down here," Dad whispered, touching it, "But there's a note for us on top of it."

Freddy picked it up and cleared his throat, which was oddly constricted.

"Hey, Freddy. Hey, Mattie," Freddy began, his voice hoarse. "I know you may not believe me when I say this, but, since I was an awesome Teutonic Knight, I think that God's got a soft spot for me." As he read, the lump in his throat got worse. He trailed off.

"You don't have to read it now," Dad began, but Freddy shook his head, flipping through page after page of the handwritten note.

Freddy looked at the closing and swallowed hard. "—yeah, I know, I know, you miss the awesome me," Freddy read. His voice cracked. "I miss the awesome you, too. I love you, and I want you to be happy—and you can't be happy if you're moping. So call up Lovino or Al or somebody and have a game night." Freddy blinked the tears out of his eyes and kept reading, despite the tremors in his voice. "Go out and have some fun." He set down the letter on the table. "Love, Papa."