"God, where is the perra-bitch? He was supposed to be here by now." The country of Mexico irritably checks his watch for the umpteenth time. He groans at the sight of the time, "Ughh! I flew two-thousand miles up here on a five-hour flight, and he lives what? like, a mile down the road? Yet, here I am! I show up on time, and where is he? He's no where to be seen!" he threw his hands up in frustration, "Increíble!"

The country of Canada was moving back and forth in his rolling chair, pivoting with his foot. His eyes were closed, trying to tune out the latter, but was failing miserably. "Ignacio," he says his brother's name, gaining his attention, "he probably got caught up by something. Haven't you seen American news lately? He's probably dealing with who-knows-what right now," Matthew sighs.

Ignacio scoffs, and leans far back in his chair, causing it to squeak audibly. He haughtily crosses his arms over his chest, sulking quietly.

They both sit in silence, which Matthew was grateful for. It was finally quiet, save for the sounds of Ignacio annoyingly tapping his foot, and the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall. Matthew eyes remain meditatively closed, trying to find any semblance of peace he could in this small, stuffy meeting room.

Being such a spacious country and having lots of landmass, he's admittedly, a little claustrophobic, and being trapped in a tiny space — especially with his aggravating younger brother — has been an absolutely miserable experience. It was nearly suffocatingly small. But he understood why Alfred chose it, since this room is solely used for North American meetings, he figured they didn't need that much space for just the three of them. Well, occasionally four if Greenland chose to come, but usually Greenland simply kept to himself, unless it was absolutely mandatory. He didn't like to think of himself as a North American country, but rather a European one.

Just as Canada was finally feeling slightly better, having his own thoughts to distract him from his claustrophobia for just a moment, Mexico suddenly shouts, "Gah! We should just start the meeting without him! It's been forty minutes!"

"Oh my God— ta gueule!" Matthew sharply inhales, "Ignacio it's been two goddamn minutes — hold on!" Matthew stomps over to a metal safe in the farthest corner of the room, which was the size of a small refrigerator. He punches in a few numbers on the keypad, and swiftly opens it, revealing his cellphone, "I'll text him, and tell him to hurry up."

"He's not going to answer, Matty, he never does. You're only going to get us in trouble if you're caught using—"

"Too late. I already sent it. I'm tired of you bitching and moaning." Just as quickly as he got it, he put the phone back into the safe, and closes the door, which locks itself automatically.

Ignacio glares at his brother. "I'm not bitching!" he bitches. Matthew shoots him a skeptical look, and returns to his seat. As he walks by, he smacks his younger brother in the back of the head, which caused a flurry of Spanish curses to come his way. Ignoring him, Matthew takes a seat opposite of Ignacio at the wooden table.

Ignacio leans back in his chair, stretching out his back. Then he raises his arms up high above his head, and yawns, "Well, if he doesn't hurry up..." He checks his watch again, then closes his eyes. "I'm going to sleep... I'm super jet-lagged."

Matthew sighs, "I'm sure Alfred will—"

The door slams open. Revealing their brother, Alfred, standing there with his hands on his hips, smiling heroically as he always does. "Hey, bro-bros! I'm here!"

"We can see that," Matthew snorts. He shifts in his seat to appear more professional, and vaguely gestures for him to take a seat.

Ignacio rolls his eyes at Alfred, unimpressed by his dramatic entrance. "What the hell took so long?"

Alfred takes an deep breath. "Well... McDonalds was wrapped up like crazy — can you believe that?! It's so early! What are people doing up so early? — Anyways, when I got up to the window, the lady said, 'You have to come inside to place catering orders, sir. If you want to place a catering order, please come inside,' like, she said it over and over again, but I told her, like, 'No! It's not a catering order, it's just me. I really do want 75 Big Macs, is that a crime, lady?' Gee-wiz! So then, I went up to the window, after like thirty minutes—"

"Okay, okay, thank you for sharing. Can we start the meeting now?" Matthew interrupts as kindly as he can.

Alfred's face falls at his brother's words. He walks over to his brothers, and dejectedly sits down in his seat at Ignacio's left, and Matthew's right. He droops his head in hands, looking like a kicked puppy.

The boys sit in an uncomfortable silence, as the two countries stare expectedly at the pouting superpower, not sure of what to do. America was the one that was supposed to be hosting this meeting, since they were in his country, so he needed to... well, start hosting.

"... Alfred, are you going to—" Mexico was interrupted.

"Oh—Oh yeah! Sorry," Alfred abruptly stands up from his seat, smiling brightly, "today... we're going to have a meeting."

The two other nations glance at each other, brows furrowed, completely stupefied, wondering to themselves if he was joking. Then they looked back at their oldest brother, and nod in his direction, encouraging him to continue. Alfred merely stands there, staring through the two nations, looking as if he was stage-frightened and had forgotten his lines.

"Go on..." Matthew says, slight confusion and worry present his voice.

He snaps out of it. "Oh, um, sorry. Uh, today— and... we're going to... we're going to talk about, uh," Alfred looks around with a strange look on his face, "trade," he finishes.

"... Alfred, you okay?" his youngest brother asks him, rare concern in his expression. His hand extends towards his brother, and gently holds onto his arm, trying to get him to sit back down.

Alfred looks carefully at him and nods, waving him off. "... Yeah, yeah. Oh yeah! I'm fine — just tired, and..." he scratches the back of his head, "a bit nervous," he admits, laughing anxiously.

"Nervous? Why are you nervous?" Matthew asks, puzzled. Never in his lifetime has he ever heard his brother being nervous of anything, for as long as he could remember.

"Boss has been," Alfred fidgets, "changing a lot of stuff around. Stuff y'all might not care for too much," he explains, scratching the back of his head. Seemingly returning to normal. He clears his throat, and sits back down. "Anyway, sorry about that. Let's begin."

—

Alfred sighs, "I'm the host, and you're the guests. I should be the one to stay and clean up." He leans on the doorframe of the meeting room, while holding his coffee in hand.

"No, it's fine! You did it last time for us," Matthew replies, subtlety trying to push him out the door by inching closer.

Alfred looks away upon hearing his remark, slightly embarrassed at the sudden praise. He shifts from one foot to the other, and gives both his brothers a hesitant look, before he finally responds, "... Alright! If you say so. See you guys later." Alfred waves, and begrudgingly pushes himself off the doorway. He starts to walk away.

"Bye, see you later!" Matthew returns kindly. He peaks down the hallway, watching him turn the corner through the crack of the door. Once he was positive he was out of earshot, he frantically pushes the door closed, locking it behind him.

"Ignacio!" he gasps panically.

"Matthew!" Ignacio mocks, writing some final notes down in his notepad.

Matthew ignores his sarcasm. "What the hell was that?! You saw that too, right?" he looks over at his brother, who was still sitting at the table, "I'm not crazy right?"

"Hey, I don't know about all that now..." Ignacio laughs. As he finishes up, he pushes the notepad aside. He leans back in his chair, and puts his feet up on the table.

"Stop it, I'm being serious!" Matthew huffs, walking towards him. He puts both his hands onto the table, and stares at the table deep in thought, hunching over slightly.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"That episode, or whatever it was!" He threw his hand up to emphasize his point.

Ignacio raises an eyebrow, wondering if his older brother has officially lost his mind. Once he realizes Matthew wasn't going to let this go, he groans, "I don't know why you're making such a big deal out this, Pendejo! He just..." he shakes his head, and gestures with his hands, trying to find the right word, "... froze up. It happens to the best of us."

"Not to Alfred it doesn't," Matthew says shortly. He began to pace the small room.

Ignacio scowls, and gives him a pointed look. "¡Sí, sí él puede! He messes up, too. The only person on the planet who hasn't frozen up while public speaking is, like, probably Germany or something."

"I really don't think it was a mistake. Something happened to him, I just know it, and I can't figure out what." Matthew shakes his head.

"Oh? Then what do you suppose happened, Detective Pendejo?"

"Stop calling me that," Matthew grumbles quietly, stopping his pacing. He looks back at his brother.

"What?"

"Pun-dayo, or whatever you just said," Matthew explains, "I don't know what that means, but I have a feeling it's no bueno." Ignacio snickers.

"It means 'brother', chill out," he replies. He dismisses the discussion, with a wave of his hand.

Matthew huffs, "Back to the topic at hand. What do you think happened?" Mexico unhelpfully shrugs in response. Matthew looks away. He starts to pace again. "Do you think he's hiding something?" he asks curiously.

"Maybe, but if he is... so what? He's allowed to have secrets. We all have secrets," Ignacio says.

"Government secrets, not personal one," he refutes. He narrows his eyes at the floor. "We need to devise a plan. Maybe we should—"

"What?! Devise a plan, like, this is some sort of top secret mission? trying to force information out of him?"

"If it comes to that, maybe."

Ignacio laughs. "What are you going to do? Stalk him? Interrogate him? Bug his phone? Or maybe bug his house too while we're at it?" Ignacio sneers. He leans forwards, looking his brother clear in the eye. "Do you know how private Alfred is? I'm pretty sure trying to force information out of him — which he clearly doesn't want to share — would be like a declaration of war." He gives him a pointed look. "World War III, you really want to wage war against our brother? Not only would that be shitty to fight family, but he also has, like a million nukes."

Matthew stops, and glares at his brother. "Oh my God, Ig! I'm worried about him! Is that a war crime?"

"But why are you so worried about this?"

"Because Alfred is my brother. We're supposed to talk about everything. We've had a long history that you just wouldn't understand. We're supposed to be close — close enough that we don't keep secrets from each other," Matthew explains, looking off distantly. Ignacio was gaping at his back. "Or at least, we're not supposed to keep secrets," Matthew adds quietly.

Ignacio looks away, hiding his face from his brother. His pulls his crossed arms over his chest tighter, and leans back. "... Well," he says, tone unusually sharp. "Why don't you just go talk to him then?"

"Pardon?"

"Why don't you just talk to him?" Ignacio repeats defensively.

"Well, I—"

"I mean, If he's keeping a secret from you, it's not a problem to just ask him, right? He'd trust you with that kind of secret, since you're so close. Just ask him!"

Matthew seems to seriously contemplate his words, completely unaware that his brother was truly upset. "You're right... I should just call him." He smiles. "I can invite him over for dinner... or even better I can sweet talk him into going out to one of his favorite restaurants and we can—"

The door slams, halting any further words. Before Matthew could even turn around to see who was at the door, it closes again immediately, just as violently as the first time. He looks around, only to find the room was completely empty. Matthew's arms drop to his sides.

"Ignacio...?"

—

"Ooh! You think you're so great, pinche Pedejo? ¡Vete a la verga!" Ignacio growls, as he stomps through the halls. "Ooo, look at me! I'm so close to ¡mi hermano! Look at me!" he mocks in a fake Canadian accent. "Bitch!" He kicks over someone's water bottle sitting on the ground.

Construction workers in the building trying to do their job, glance over at the man, wondering what the hell he was going on about, but wisely stayed out of his way. When he spoke, some of the Spanish-speaking workers look over, mildly offended. The nation avoids eye contact with all of them. He had a destination in mind, and he had no time for obstacles. He was going home. Now.

"¡Hijo de las mil putas pagará! I will make sure of it! I'll— argh! I don't know what I'll do, but he will regret it!" he promises. Ignacio went down the elevator, and left the building as promptly as he could.

He snatches the keys out of his pocket, walks into the nearly empty parking lot. Besides himself, no other person was here. Most of the parking spots were taken by construction vehicles. He finds the reserved, 'foreign ambassador' parking spaces with ease, and makes his way towards his car, a string of curses following his every step.

As he approaches it, the sound of a car skidding, squeaking loudly on the interstate behind him, causing him to briefly glance in the direction of the noise. When he doesn't see a car wreck or anything spectacular, he turns back around.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a familiar vehicle to his right. Alfred's car. Surprisingly, It was pulled right next to his own car. However, what was even more surprising, was when he looked through the window, he found him just sitting there, dazed in the driver's seat. America hadn't even noticed Ignacio, who was standing right in front of him.

Ignacio bit his lip, and walks around his brother's car, examining his entranced brother, who was holding onto the steering wheel. He debates if he should approach him directly, or just leave him be. He considers both options.

On one hand, Alfred could need serious help. Maybe he's incapacitated, and needs help driving to the hospital. Maybe something was disturbing him that he needed to let off his chest, and he needs emotional support. Not that Ignacio would be much help, since he wasn't the best at that kind of thing, but his half-assed attempt might be better than nothing. He inches closer to Alfred's window, but stops himself.

... But on the other hand, Alfred was also a nation. Meaning, his body and mind were a exact personification of America, and when something was off about a personification, chances are, it usually had something to do with the physical country, whether it was the economy, tragedies, wars, or whatever; it all had physical and mental effects on all the nations, and it seems likely that was what's going on with his brother. And as much as he'd like to, Ignacio can't really help him directly with economic troubles, so it would be pointless to confront him. It would only serve to make Alfred feel worse.

He glances towards the door of the building. And besides, Canada will come out in a minute or two. He could just let him deal with it, since he apparently knew the latter best.

He scowls and shakes his head. It would do no good to relive the argument now, especially since Matthew would be coming out any second now, so he had to go quickly. He didn't want to confront his brother right now, he just wanted to go home.

Ignacio, albeit reluctantly, pretends he never even saw his brother. He gets in his car, and he drives away.

...

Translations:

perra = bitch (yes, he called him a bitch-bitch)

increíble = unbelievable/amazing

ta gueule = shut up

pendejo = asshole

Sí, sí él puede = yes, yes he can

pinche = fucking

vete a la verga = slang for fuck you

mi hermano = my brother

hijo de las mil putas pagará = son of a thousand whores will pay (extreme ver. of son of a bitch)

Let me know if the translations are off, or if I missed anything.