A/N: Hallo! Yes, I've returned, with another collab fic for the next edition of the 100 Fanfic Challenge! This was done with the amazing Arashi91! She's wonderfundle to work with, really. This was total crack, so I hope you enjoy! xD

Prompt: Teamwork

Pairing: NONE! BTT crack fic? Yes (Though slight mentions of USUK, Spamano, and PruCan.)

Summary: The three members of The Bad Touch Trio are more than just average, sexy hot guys. They're average sexy hot guys...in spandex. Fighting crime all across the world and generally being awesome, kesesese!~ But when their old enemy, Earl Grey, returns, whatever are they to do? Crack fic!

Antonio sighed wistfully as he plopped down onto the lustrous, silvery fabric of the couch situated in the back corner of Prussia's humble abode (AKA Germany's basement), twirling a plump, bright red tomato around in his tan, calloused hand. A large, extravagant looking flat screen was mounted on the adjacent wall, and beside it an equally large framed picture of the so-called 'Bad Touch Trio', smiling and laughing about some unknown nonsense like they would any other day.

Any other normal day, that was.

"So, why did you call us here, Prussia?" asked the Spaniard, his face set into a deep pout as olive orbs remained trained on the luscious tomato. "You interrupted me and my little Lovi~ . We were having so much fun!"

Prussia gestured absently to the vacant seat beside Spain as France traipsed down the stairs leading into the depths of the basement, ever in his flashy and flamboyant manner. "Listen, boys! We's got a mission on our awesome—but not as much as me—hands! We gotta get our head in the game, gotta get in gear! You hear me? In gear!" His voice rose to a shout within the handful of seconds it took to spout those few words as a cocky smirk upturned part of his mouth.

He stepped back to the flatscreen television and popped in an old-fashioned, unmarked VHS tape into a concealed opening just underneath the overly large electronic screen before leaping across the room to crash down into the nonexistent spot between Spain and France, leaning forward with pointy elbows digging into thin thighs as if he were scrutinizing a football game, or a security tape.

The Spaniard's eyes lit up with curiosity as he waited for the image to appear on screen. "Oh, another mission~. Sounds fun!" he chimed, taking a hasty bite of his tomato as he leaned back into the plushy confines of Prussia's couch. The watery red liquid dribbled down his exceptionally tanned chin as he chewed slowly, savoring the flavor of the tomato he had taken from Lovino's garden. (Not like Lovi would really mind…right?~)

Suddenly, the TV flickered to life as the tape began to play. The image revealed a mysterious looking silhouette, shrouded in enigmatic shadow as the figure seemed to lean forward, fingers steepled in an almost curious manner. Though the image on screen showed only the outline of a man, Antonio (and the others for that matter) immediately recognized him. The shadows revealed just enough to see that signature curl that seemed to jut from atop of the mysterious man's head, and there was a snowy white bear in the corner that always seemed to be a constant whenever the Trio received a tape from their so-called 'Boss.'

The figure on screen cleared his throat, and then, spoke with an authoritative tone (well, as authoritative as it could sound when diffused through a voice modulator). "Boys, as I'm already sure you know… I have a mission for you."

Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert all waited in silent anticipation as their Boss continued on.

"I'm sure you're all fairly acquainted with our ex-enemy 'Earl Grey,' am I correct?" the figure paused in his speech for a moment, as if allowing time for the three to reflect. "Right… We defeated him a long time ago… but, well, at the risk of sounding clichéd, boys, at least we thought we defeated him."

Antonio's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Eh? Seriously?" he questioned in disbelief. "Earl Grey is back? But… dios mio, I was pretty sure we got him good!"

"How the hell is he back? Didn't we pretty much nuke him the last time he showed up?" Prussia hopped to his feet, incensed now into shouting at the screen as his words were punctuated by his French friend's effeminate gasps.

The bear in the background began to gnaw on something greenish clutched between its rather fluffy paws as the processed voice of their Boss emitted from the generously-sized speakers adorning the flatscreen. "Chin up now, boys, there is a silver lining to this terrible situation: our operations specialists have led us to what we think might possibly be Earl Grey's base of operations, or his hideout, so to speak. We're not sure at the moment what the nature of the structure is, but he seems to have zeroed in on Big Ben—I'm sure all three of you are familiar with it, at least to an extent—in London. We want you to infiltrate Big Ben to see if our suspicions are correct. If they are, capture Earl Grey dead or alive, and any sort of accomplices he may have working with him. Report back to me at oh-six hundred hours tomorrow morning, once you all land in London, England. I've scheduled a private jet to take you there early tomorrow morning at four A.M. sharp. You three will be compensated for this job once you have completed your mission, and I have reserved one hotel room for the three of you at Brown's Hotel, off of Ablemarle. I look forward to hearing from you three tomorrow morning." And with that the television set itself clicked off, the tape automatically ejecting from the VCR embedded within the wall.

Ruby eyes surveyed the digital watch adorning Prussia's left wrist before his gaze popped up to his two friends. "So. Looks like we have a plane to catch at crazy ass o'clock in the morning, and it's just now turning over to four in the afternoon. We've got some time to kill, don't we boys?"

5:58 A.M. Local Time. London, England

Antonio huffed as he towed a heavily weighted suitcase along with him into the grand entrance of Brown's Hotel, the little silver cross strung around his neck by a single chain swaying absently in the breeze that oscillated through the revolving door. Gilbert and Francis followed quickly after, tugging along their own hefty luggage as the three made their way towards the check-in counter.

After going through the usual procedures needed to check into the hotel, they had taken the elevator up to the 20th floor and gotten situated in their hotel suite. Antonio was now lounging lazily on one of the master beds pushed against the wall, delicate fingers toying distractedly with his cross as his bottle green eyes fell upon Francis sitting on the bed beside him. Gilbert meanwhile, was on the other side of the room, sifting through his suitcase, apparently looking through it for something.

"So, amigo," the Spaniard began, propping himself up on his elbows so he could get a better glimpse of his two friends in the room. "When are we planning to do that infiltration thingie?"

Francis was the first to respond with a shrug, absently plucking velvet rose petals from a single peach-hued, de-thorned rose in his hand. "Boss said to report back to him at six o'clock this morning… what time is it now? It must be around that time… he might give us more instructions when we call him, n'est-ce pas?"

As if on cue the tube television that dominated the rather petite hotel room hummed to life, the shrouded figure of the trio's Boss and his trademark bear dashing across the screen. "You all will know what to do tonight. Go to the base of Big Ben and scale it. Grappling hooks, among all of the other necessary equipment, have been placed in a secret compartment in your suitcases. Earl Grey shouldn't be expecting this, if we do it right. We launch our attack at midnight." And with that the television cut off as it did before, leaving a distinct thrum within the room that the air had previously lacked.

The Spaniard blinked a bit as he let what the Boss had so abruptly said sink in. "Well that was convenient, si?" he remarked as a grin slowly crept across his face. "Grappling hooks… hmm, sounds fun~!" he hummed, suddenly sitting upright then so he could gaze at Gilbert still hurriedly sifting through his suitcase.

"Did you find the special equipment, amigo?" asked Antonio, absentmindedly fingering the chain around his neck once again.

With a triumphant grin that exuded confidence Gilbert nodded enthusiastically, brows furrowing as he held up three individual sets of charcoal-hued grappling hooks, complete with what had to have been easily a 100-foot long rope. "Of course! Did you really not expect the awesome me to not find these things? This is gonna be hella fun tonight, kesesese!~"

Antonio shifted slightly and cocked his head to the side upon seeing the equipment. "Ah, I see," he replied in a heavily accented voice, his wide grin boasting brilliantly white teeth. "Si, I'm excited! It should be fun!~ For a guy so little, Earl Grey's always a good challenge, no?" He turned to Francis then, letting a small chuckle escape his throat before he next spoke. "Wait 'till Lovi hears about this!"

Francis simply reached out to tousle Spain's choppy sienna hair, mimicking his huge grin. "Ouais! Always a good challenge… honhonhon…~!"

Earning a confused quirk of the brow from the albino across the room, Francis hopped to his feet brandishing a fresh rose, this one as red as uncut garnet. "Anyway, we have a big night ahead of us, don't we? Let's go and get ready for it! Maintenant!" And with that he seized Gilbert's and Antonio's forearms, towing them off into some unknown part of the hotel, his characteristic "honhonhon~" chuckle trailing everywhere they laid foot.

It was a quarter to midnight in London, England. The sun had long ago set behind the horizon, the sky now converted to an expanse of glassy obsidian that seemed to stretch out endlessly before the trio. The stars were not out tonight—they were obscured by the looming clouds above, as always—but it still wasn't a particularly rainy evening. All in all, a good night to embark on their perilous mission.

And what better way to dress for a mission than in spandex? Really, what sort of Bad Touch Trio would they be without it?

All three of them were clad in the traditionally styled 'superhero' uniforms, though each of them had unique touches that suited their character. Antonio was clad in a uniform of tawny yellow and vibrant red, something resembling the 'Superman' symbol adorned upon his chest, except replacing the boldly colored 'S' was a portrayal of a plump, juicy looking tomato (it had taken all of the Spaniard's willpower not to attempt to devour it when he had first received the costume). A florid cape was tied around his neck, and it fluttered in the breeze as he dashed towards the sleek black convertible stationed in back of the hotel that had been deemed the 'Bad Touch Mobile'. Behind him, Gilbert and Francis were quickly following, dressed in a similar fashion—despite the fact that Prussia's uniform was black and white, and a symbol resembling an eagle was plastered across his chest, and Francis's was both red and blue, a few tinges of white here and there, his symbol being an elegantly screen-printed lily.

"Andale, andale, mis amigos!" chanted Spain as he rushed forward, the other two quick on his heels. "To the Bad Touch Mobile!"

With a burst of speed Prussia passed Spain and rounded the sleek obsidian Corvette parked inconspicuously on the street adjacent to their hotel, diving into the open window to slip behind the wheel. He keyed the ignition as France slipped into the backseat and Spain occupied the passenger side—all three national personifications felt somewhat out of place in the car, seeing as how the interior was set up American-style, with the driver's seat on the left rather than the right. A hand darted out of the back and pointed through the windshield, gesturing toward the illuminated face of none other than Big Ben. "Allons-y! To that landmarks, mes petits amis!" And so they began to drive. Fast.

As Spain lounged back into the plushy cushion of the convertible's leather passenger seat, a thought suddenly occurred to him. He visibly perked up, and began to rummage through any compartments within reach, sifting through ammunition, emergency weapons, some sort of car manual—Oh! The coupon for tomatoes he'd lost a while ago!—until finally, in a secret compartment hiding beneath his feet, he found exactly what he was looking for.

" Si! I knew it!" he chimed as he reached into the compartment to pull out his precious treasure. When he resurfaced, the Spaniard held his signature axe in his hands, the beautifully sharpened blade glinting in the dim lights emitting from the dashboard. He yanked on the telescopic handle so that it was fully extended, and he held it firmly in his hands, sighing contentedly and stroking the blade ever-so carefully with his index finger. "Beautiful as always, isn't she?~" he purred, which earned an eye roll from the Prussian beside him. Antonio then pushed the handle back up so that it was once again portable and clipped it to his belt, grinning as the car suddenly came to a stop near the large clock tower commonly known as 'Big Ben'.

"Let's do this sh—!" Prussia tried to exclaim only to be silenced by the hand that shot out again from the backseat.

"You need to be quiet, or else we'll be found out," France whispered, holding a single finger up to his lips as he somehow slipped out of the car from behind Prussia's seat, removing his hand from the albino's mouth.

All three assembled in front of one of the sides of Big Ben at France's lead—after all, he did have covert knowledge of the monument, knowing his connections— as all three whipped out their grappling hooks, double checking that there were no unexpected snags or knots in the nylon rope attached to the ends of all three onyx tools before they tossed them skyward simultaneously. With the quiet clatter of the metallic hooks lodging into some sort of foothold and the cautious tug on three sets of ropes Spain, Prussia, and France moved close to the monument and set a foot upon its side as they carefully began to walk and hoist themselves up at the same time, taking measured steps.

It wasn't at all difficult for them to scale the clock tower. It took a bit of getting used to, for it was a bit bigger building than anything else they'd climbed up in a while, but being as skilled as they were in these types of situations, it soon became almost second nature to slowly creep up the side of the monument, practiced feet finding nooks and crannies to hold to as their grasps were held firmly on the ropes tied around their waists.

They were making exceptionally good progress—Antonio himself was immensely pleased with the way things were turning out. They could be in and out of there in no time at this rate. Besides, they had defeated Earl Grey once; it should've been even easier to defeat him again!

But of course, there had to be a hindrance to their plans, didn't there? There always was.

Just when they were about halfway up Big Ben, Antonio felt something tugging the rope attached to his grappling hook. He whipped his head around immediately, looking to see if it could've been one of his teammates, but they both looked much too immersed in the task at hand to have done such a thing.

"Hey," Antonio whispered, catching the attention of the other two men scaling the clock tower whilst trying to keep his voice as low as possible, so as not to break their cover. "Did you guys feel that thing? Something tugged on my rope…"

Both men shook their heads simultaneously, but did not offer anything further. Antonio then decided that it must've been a particularly powerful gust of wind or something along those lines, and brushed it off with a simple shrug before continuing on.

But then there it was, that tug again. More forceful this time, as if someone were trying to make him slip or fall, without success of course. Antonio was much too skilled in this field to let one simple little jerk of a rope be his downfall. It wasn't coming from where the grappling hooks were lodged, no, then someone would've removed them and had the trio falling instantly… Well, if this was some unknown person attempting to deter the Spaniard, they must've been pretty stupid not to think of going directly to the source to admonish the problem.

The next yank, and the most powerful of them all, almost, just almost, caused Antonio to lose his footing. It was strange and it was starting to irk him just a bit, because Gilbert and Francis didn't seem to be having the same problem as him… so what was going on?

One final tug, and this time it was accompanied with a raucous, boisterous laugh that startled the entire Bad Touch Trio, causing them to momentarily lose their footing.

"What the fuck?" swore Gilbert as he began to regain his balance. The laugh had come from seemingly nowhere, and it had Antonio more than a little startled. It definitely didn't belong to Earl Grey himself. No, it sounded nothing like the malevolent Englishman that they were familiar with. So… who the hell was this person?

"HEY GUYS, YOUR STUPID MISSION IS UP!" yelled the mysterious voice, which sounded awfully ridiculous and childlike for someone who was, supposedly, here to 'end the Bad Touch Trio's mission'. "THE HERO—I MEAN….THE…VILLIAN GUY… YEAH—IS HERE TO PUT THIS ALL TO A STOP ONCE AND FOR ALL!"

France couldn't help but to quirk a brow at the confused villain's boisterous outburst as his hands tightened steadfastly around the rope, all but holding onto it with a death grip. "Are you sure that you're the 'villain guy,' as you put it? You sound confused about your position in this story, mon petit vaurien!"

Before the newcomer could respond the voice that the Bad Touch Trio knew and loved—well, not really—shattered the tense air surrounding the immense monument. "YOU DAMN BLOODY WANKER! GET BACK IN HERE THIS INSTANT! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT SHOUTING STUPID THINGS OBLIQUELY?"

A short smirk upturned one side of France's lips as he and his companions found their footing once again. "I was starting to wonder where old Earl Grey had vanished to," he muttered as all three men scampered up what remained of their journey, hoisting themselves up and over the protrusion on which their grappling hooks had snagged and hopping to their feet within seconds.

The mysterious figure then came into view, hoisting himself up the building's edge with little to no effort at all as he bounded to his feet, practically skipping over to the Supervillian atop the roof of Big Ben from which the irritated shrieking had come from. This man was tall and well-built, with silky blonde locks and electric blue eyes. He was clad in an uncharacteristically casual outfit—ripped, denim jeans, a plaid flannel thrown carelessly over a plain white undershirt, and a pair of Nike sneakers adorning his feet. The only thing that seemed to remotely resemble any sort of villainous attire was a pathetic looking black mask, which looked like he had just simply taken a piece of Dollar Store fabric, cut two eyeholes in it and tied it around his eyes like a blindfold in all but two seconds. It was almost comical, and the three members of the Bad Touch Trio couldn't help but to let out a bemused snicker at the sight.

"Well geez, sorry Art—I MEAN—…Earl Grey," chuckled the blonde as he tugged on the villain's forearm, who, despite his usual intimidating appearance, looked rather annoyed. "But y'know, if you wanna be a villain and all that junk, you gotta make a big entrance! It's totally required."

The scene was just too playfully pathetic, and it had Antonio thinking that defeating Earl Grey would turn out to be much too easy. The wicked Englishman literally facepalmed, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips. "I knew I should've never agreed to let you help me, Alfred," he muttered, the pirate hat—complete with flashy red feather and all—perched atop his head shifting a little in the light breeze.

The man who was supposedly named 'Alfred' pouted childishly, clinging even tighter to the fabric of Earl Grey's long, flowing, black cloak. "My name's not Alfred," he whined, bouncing impatiently back and forth on the balls of his feet. "It's the 'Hamburglar!'"

Gilbert suddenly burst into loud guffaws.

"Git," remarked Earl Grey, rolling his emerald orbs skyward in annoyance and trying, for now at least, to ignore the obnoxious laughter emitting from the silvery-haired hero. "I told you already, that name is copyrighted. Now please, I have work to do, so if you'd kindly—"

"Aww no fair! I—"

"Alfred, please, just shut up!"

Gilbert stumbled in-between Antonio and Francis, nudging both of them as he fought for his words between bursts of laughing that frequently overtook him. "So this… is the guy that's… gonna take over the world, huh? He can't… even get his sidekick in line!" At that the Prussian was lost to the consuming throes of his over-the-top laughter.

"Hey! I'm no sidekick!" Alfred piped up before Earl Grey roughly smacked him upside the head, the bluish vein atop his temple pulsing ominously.

"DIDN'T I JUST TELL YOU TO SHUT UP?" Earl Grey hollered, his voice cracking into a novel harmonic tone from the almost tangible anger that seemed to roll off of him in waves, his cheeks accented by the swell of rouge that blossomed within their cream complexion, "Leave the villainy to me! Now, where were we?" A menacing tone crept into his voice as his pitch dropped a few octaves, fingers steepling in front of his chest as if he were contemplating something before turning on his heel to face the Trio. "Ah, yes… world domination time. And I'll start with obliterating you three off of the face of the earth."

It was then that Gilbert seized hold of himself, regaining his composure and straightening defiantly, his head posed so that it was as if he were looking down upon the shorter villain from a handful of feet away. "You'll never take over the world, Earl Grey! Not on my awesome watch!"

Earl Grey chuckled darkly, one of the corners of his lips quirking upward into that ever-familiar, devious smirk. His fingers remained steepled, emerald green eyes taking on an ominous sheen as he slowly strutted forward towards the three members of the Bad Touch Trio. "I doubt you'll be able to stop me, Gilbert," he sneered, stopping just in front of the Prussian to look him dead in the eye, hands placed plaintively on his hips. "I assure you, this plan is much more complex and guaranteed to succeed than the last."

Gilbert snickered, but didn't say a word, staring daggers into the equally frightening eyes of the English Supervillian standing before him. Antonio, meanwhile, furrowed his brows slightly, before asking the question that the others refused to voice. "Oh? And what is this plan, Earl Grey?"

Earl Grey's head suddenly whipped around to look at the Spaniard who had spoken, that condescending smirk still plastered across his face. "Ah, Antonio," he remarked, stepping forwards to stand nearer to the tanned, spandex-clad superhero. "Long time, no see."

Antonio raised a brow. "Si," he simply replied, refusing to supply anything further than that simple phrase.

"…In answer to your question," proceeded Earl Grey, turning his back on the three to stride back over towards his apparent 'sidekick'. "It's simple, really."

'Alfred' piped up suddenly, straightening from his slumped stature and raising his pointer finger in the air as he spoke. "YEAH! ARTIE'S GOT THIS PLAN TO PUT HIS WEIRD BLACK MAGIC STUFF INTO THOSE SCONE THINGIES OF HIS, SO THAT WHEN PEOPLE EAT 'EM, THEY'LL BE ALL BRAINWASHED AND STUFF AND UNDER HIS COMMAND—"

Earl Grey then rushed over towards Alfred, a furious expression on his face, and promptly clapped a hand over the excited American's mouth.

"SHUT UP YOU IDIOT! IT'S NOT JUST THAT! IT'S A LOT MORE O-OMINOUS AND… AND COMPLEX!" he screeched, face quickly turning a violent looking shade of beet-red. He sighed, free hand reaching up to rub his left temple in annoyance before continuing. "Now that they're aware of part of the plan, why don't you go and fight them away, so that we can put the world under our fingertips at long last?"

Alfred weaseled out from underneath the dominating hand of Earl Grey with a nod. "Finally, some action! Let's do this!"

Earl Grey simply shook his head, both hands flitting up to each side of his face and massaging circles into the malleable spots of his temples obscured by citrine hair. "Damn bugger… maybe you'll succeed in keeping them at bay for at least a few minutes…"

Alfred skittered away from his partner in surprisingly springy bounds, halting a handful of feet away from the waiting Trio and striking his self-proclaimed hero pose, left hand balled into a fist and situated at his hip as his right pointed accusingly at the three, head held in such a fashion that oozed confidence. "You guys are goin' down, right now!"

"Non, mon amie, you are supremely confused!" France chided, his superfluous voice complemented by airy gestures complete with a scarlet rose in one hand. "L'Espagne, now's your moment! Allez!"

With a raised brow Spain shot a confused look toward the blonde, though a smile secured itself upon his lips. "Huh? What do you mean?"

Prussia burst into laughter as he sharply poked Spain, gesturing to the portable axe blade situated upon his utility belt of sorts. "You're the only one that has an awesome weapon right now! Use it!" he explained.

"Oh, right!" Spain hopped into action then, removing his finely-sharpened axe blade from its perch and whisking out its telescopic handle, instantly fusing the two together and wielding the rather large weapon with both red-gloved hands clasped tight around it.

Alfred eyed the axe with an air of consideration before brandishing his own weapon, whipping out what seemed to be an American flag; the silky fabric boasting stars and stripes attached to a sleek, black handle, the usual point at the top much sharper than any other common flag seen in public areas. With a confident grin, Alfred rushed forward towards the readied Spaniard, both hands clasped tightly around the flag's handle as he raised it in front of himself to block any forthcoming blows.

Antonio ran forwards to the meet the sunny blonde in the middle, a determined look in his olive-hued orbs as he held his axe in the same position. He screeched out some sort of battle cry in Spanish ("PARA LOS TOMATES!") before reaching the energetic American, literally colliding into him as the handles of their weapons clashed harshly against each other. They both gave each other hard, icy stares for one brief moment before the real battle commenced.

The Spaniard was the one to make the first move, yanking his axe away from its current position and expertly—and quite unexpectedly—swinging it at the young American. Alfred just barely had time to duck, but quite miraculously he evaded the blow, resurfacing with a smug grin plastered across his face. "HA! CAN'T GET ME!" the blonde sing-songed, eyes alight with fiery excitement.

Chocolate brows furrowed as Spain hopped back a space and tried to swing again, aiming for his rival's midriff, but was met with the sharpest span of the blade wedging itself within the obsidian, painted hilt of Alfred's flag. Though the American sported a dumbstruck expression, as if he weren't expecting to parry so successfully, he took the opening that presented itself; he yanked his flag back at a breakneck pace, complete with Spain's axe still embedded within the wood as a hand abandoned his flag for the handle of the Spaniard's blade.

Spain charged the younger man, yet Alfred sidestepped him and snatched the axe out of his flag, spinning on his heel for momentum as he let go. The modernized weapon sung as it whipped through the crisp, early morning air, straight over the edge of the monument in which the super forces clashed. "WATCH YOUR AIM, YOU GIT!" the accented voice of Earl Grey screeched, seemingly from a corner of Big Ben to the left of the Trio; apparently he had made his way over there in the short span of Spain and Alfred's battle.

Spain froze to the spot before his knees gave out from sheer surprise, bottle green eyes watery and wide. He clattered to the ground and pounded the cement with a fist, twinges of pain searing one side of his right hand. "Noooo!~ My beautiful axe…!"

Meanwhile, whilst Spain wept profusely over his lost weapon and Alfred stood there looking more than a tad bit confused over the Spaniard's desperation, Earl Grey was making his way steadily over to where his sleek, chrome-tinted laptop was perched, among a cluster of other technological devices and various other things he needed to accomplish his devious plans. The rest of the Bad Touch Trio had been too occupied watching Alfred (suppose the daft American was good for some things…git…not to mention the se—Uh. Uh. Cough cough cough. Ahem.)and Antonio engaged in their perilous battle, and this had given the Supervillian just enough time to slowly creep over to the precious device.

Sure, this laptop may have looked like any other ordinary laptop—to the rest of the bloody idiotic world, at least—but this thin, efficient little computer had much more than just porn, USUK fanfictions, and recipes for boiling water on its hard drive. (Ooh. Hard drive. That was another sexual innuendo he could use in the bedroom with Alfred late—Oh bloody hell narrator, get to the point.) No. This laptop was special. With just one little touch of what Early called his 'special button' hidden secretively at the laptop's right side, he would activate all of the currently idle factories that he had built all across the world so that they could begin to produce his extraordinary scones at mass production speed.

With a touch of Black Magic, the Supervillian could not only make people want to actually buy and ravenously devour the scones, but he could also make it so that when eaten, all of the citizens of the Earth would automatically feel a compulsive urge to obey him, and so they would! And then, cue the "RULE BRITTANIA" scene. Mwahahahahah… hahah… ha. With this rather brilliant plan, Earl Grey could simultaneously become an overlord, and a multi-millionaire in only a matter of weeks!

It was perfect. Absolutely, positively, perfect.

That was, until stupid, idiotic, narcissistic Prussia just had to spot Early creeping over to his laptop. Oh bullocks.

"STOP RIGHT THERE, NON-AWESOMENESS!" came the bellowing cry of who could only be the audacious German superhero, clad in… very tight… conforming spandex. (Oh, by the way, nice ass, Prussia. Though Spain's is obviously better.) "What do you think you're doing, trying to sneak away from the awesome me and my crew?"

The Englishman scoffed at the statement, one brow raised. "Do you really think that a villain of my caliber would attempt to 'sneak away,' as you put it?" Earl Grey retorted, complete with air quotes as he pivoted to face Prussia.

"Looks like that's what you're doing! Like hell I'll let you get away!" Prussia's dominant hand balled into a fist as he noticeably snarled before breaking into a run, charging straight toward the diminutive baddie.

"Wait, La Prusse, there's no need… I hold the snake in the hole, so to speak? Honhonhon…~"

Prussia halted in his tracks, halfway to Earl Grey as his head snapped back to glance toward none other than his French comrade, carmine-red eyes bulging before a triumphant grin broke across his face.

There France stood, oceanic eyes lidded at half-mast as his arms coiled around the extremely nervous-appearing American who the Frenchman had approached, one holding the other close to his spandex-clad body as the hand of his other hovered just above Alfred's vital regions, posed to strike. His head moved forward, chin perching upon Alfred's shoulder as he spoke, "Well, Earl Grey? What will you do, now that I've captured ton petit sidekick? I suggest you give up this little power charade, else suffer the wrath of le très bien moi! And by wrath, of course I suggest l'amour, non?" He shifted just slightly to peck the side of Alfred's neck before glancing back toward the villain, sporting a devious smirk.

Alfred immediately spluttered, his beloved flag clattering to the ground in all of his confusion as he let out a rather uke-esque (NO SHUT UP IT WAS VERY SEME-LIKE) yelp, orbs of cerulean blue widening suddenly in a mixture of both shock and imminent fear. He sent a pleading look Earl Grey's way, the kind of 'oh-my-fucking-god-Artie-this-perverted-spandex-laced-French-weirdy-is-totally-going-to-rape-me-help-me-help-me-oh-my-god-burgers-burgers-burgers' look that he really only gave the Supervillian whilst they were watching very… grotesque French horror movies. Which was almost never… Unless Earl Grey felt like it— shut up.

Speaking of Earl Grey, he was practically fuming at the sight of his adorable sidekick in the arms of the perverse, wine bastard. All previous thought of putting his plan into action promptly slipped his mind as his hands balled into tight little fists at his sides, two monstrously large brows coming together to form one large one in all of his wrath. "YOU BLOODY DISGUSTING FROG!" shrilled Earl Grey, stomping murderously over to where the two stood at the center of the Clock Tower's rooftop. "YOU LET ALFRED GO RIGHT THIS INSTANT OR I SWEAR I WILL SCONE YOU INTO OBLIVION YOU STUPID WINE BASTARD—!"

"Oh, will you? I'd love to see you try," France all but purred, his poised hand inching closer to its young target—mainly for emphasis, partially for his own amusement—as he stated his terms, "Now, if you want to save your little damsel in distress, I suggest you drop your plan of trying to take over the world and come quietly… else, risk the exploitation of Alfie here by none other than moi! Personally, I like the latter—"

"H-Hey, wait! I'm not a chick! Don't call me a damn damsel!" Alfred piped up, apparently having just processed his captor's words as he squirmed in the other's grasp, attempting to free himself.

He never expected France to be so strong as the arm that bound him tautened against his chest and pulled him more into the other blonde as the European man continued, ignoring the interruption, "—but ultimately, it's up to you, Monsieur Earl Grey. Though we are the heroes and must see to justice, we will be civil, bien sûr! So… what say toi?"

Antonio, who had been bawling over his lost axe for about the past 10 minutes as all of the hubbub continued, now finally seemed to jolt out of his despaired trance, his olive tinted orbs prying themselves open and falling upon the scene unfolding before him. When he came to realize that their band of heroes seemed to have the upper hand, he immediately brightened, forgetting momentarily about his axe (though his mind was still screaming "PORR QUEEEEEEEE?" like a desperate woman from a Spanish soap opera) as he bounded upright to stand next to his German comrade. "We are winning, si?" he whispered to the Prussian beside him, which earned him an eye roll and a cocky smirk in response.

"Duh!" replied Gilbert, gesturing to the sly Frenchman and the American in his arms, as well as the infuriated Brit to their left. "Of course we're winning, we always do, for we are the awesome!"

Antonio nodded in response, his trademark, dopey grin occupying his sunny features. "I knew it!" he chimed, before training his eyes back upon the scene before him.

Speaking of which…

"Oh, BULLOCKS!" yelled Earl Grey, who was tapping his foot impatiently and rubbing his forehead as if he were in deep thought. "Stupid, stupid, stupid little git, I swear whatever happens to you, Alfred, you will not get the end of my rage for years—"

Alfred winced momentarily. Maybe surrendering himself to the Frenchman would be better than a year of Earl Grey's wrath and his terrible cooking… He could just imagine it, Arti—EARL GREY—stomping towards him with that little vein in his temple pulsing like mad and a spatula in his hands, ready to spank Alfred senseless, and—OH WAIT THAT SOUNDED GREAT.

Come on Arthur, come on Arthur, save me save me save me so you can do naughty things to me—I MEAN—

As Francis giggled that sort of 'Honhonhon!~' laugh once again, which the Supervillian detested, Earl Grey sighed, pressing a hand to his temple in annoyance. "Alfred, I really really hate you—AND YOU TOO YOU FROG!" The Englishman grimaced, strongly fighting the urge to leave Alfred with the disgusting Frenchman instead of saving the git— BUT OF COURSE THAT WAS HIS AMERICAN BOOTY AND HIS AMERICAN BOOTY ONLY, AHEM, SO HE COULDN'T LEAVE HIM WITH THE PERVERSE FROG AHEM… Bloody wankers… "Let Alfred go right now," continued Earl Grey, albeit a little more calmly than earlier, but still with venom laced in his tone, reluctantly handing over the laptop with his precious, precious plans on its memory card… "And I'll stop now. Okay, you bloody idiots? Stupid Alfred, stupid git, bloody fucking…"

A pointy elbow jabbed Prussia's ribs then, followed by a curious emerald gaze. "So, did we win?" Spain inquired under his breath, though he kept an eye on the scene out of the corner of his periphery.

Prussia nodded, though he threw balled fists to his hips all triumphant-like and bellowed, "So, this means you're going to stop your unawesome conquest of taking over the world, Earl Grey?"

Earl Grey noticeably fidgeted, though his face clearly sported a resigned expression. "Yes, you idiot, did you not catch what I just said? Fucking berk…" He turned his attention toward France and the encumbered Alfred once more. "Give me back my henchman and I'll come with you."

It seemed to take France a moment to decide whether or not to let go of Alfred—his arm unclenched from around the American with an air of dejected tragedy, hands resuming their places at his sides instead of threatening to invade the young sidekick's frontal region. Prussia's victory laugh split the air as he and Spain bounded over to Earl Grey, joined within the span of a few seconds by Alfred, and removed the pair of handcuffs all members of the Bad Touch Trio had been equipped with, slapping them with an easy click onto the wrists of the bad guys. Prussia amused himself with making faces at Earl Grey as Spain left the German's side, traipsing across the top of Big Ben over to France. He clapped his flaxen-haired friend on the shoulder in a comforting manner, a huge grin alighting his face. "You'll have your chance one of these days, Francia! Be happy, we caught the bad guys!"

France glanced up to look Spain full in the face for a good moment before he nodded, the shade of a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. "Ah, ouais, mon ami, I know. And you're right. Finally, we're victorious! We must celebrate tonight!"

"Yeah!" Prussia chimed in from a few feet away, still making faces. "With a lot of beer! Kesese!~ But let's get these guys back to base, turn them in and get paid! All that shit!"

And with that the Bad Touch Trio nodded in unison, somehow clambering back down Big Ben via a trap door that Spain had stumbled over—they were able to cut through the clockwork instead of having to scramble down the side of the massive monument, much to their delight.

They were back in their usual hangout area (AKA Germany's basement), lounging against the plushy cushions of Prussia's silvery couch and making casual conversation. ("Whoa dude, you and Romano use tomatoes during sex? How the fuck does that work?" "Honhonhon~! Well, mon ami, you and Matthew do use maple syrup sometimes, oui?" "APPFT." "Oh! The tomatoes? Well it's simple really!~ You just take the tomatoes and-," BUT ENOUGH ABOUT THAT!) It was like any other normal day for the three of them, that was, until the expansive screen of Prussia's extravagant television suddenly flickered to life..

"Whoa!" exclaimed Prussia, eyes widening as a mysterious figure – with a rather distinctive looking curl that most definitely didn't belong to their boss- appeared on screen, shrouded in shadow just as their boss usually was when they received a conference call from him. The three members of the Bad Touch Trio cocked their heads curiously to the side, brows furrowing and eyes trained upon the unknown silhouette on screen. "Who the fuck is that?"

"Yo, bastardos!"

Ah.

That was who.

"Ro—Romano?" asked Spain in disbelief, bottle green eyes going even wider than earlier, if that were possible. "What are you doing on Prussia's fancy screen thingie?"

The figure seemed to look flustered, though it was hard to tell due to the dark shading. "R-Romano? Who's that? I'M THE TOMATO KING! And I'm going to take you three stupid bastards down, so that I can have all of the tomatoes in the world!" exclaimed the figure triumphantly, the ever-recognizable Italian accent clear through his tone.

"W-Wha—," stuttered Prussia, blinking feverishly as if to take in what the Italian had so abruptly said. "You want…all the tomatoes in the world—PFFFFT."

There was a brief moment of silence.

And then all three of them burst out laughing.

Romano bristled- the palpable anger exuding off of him in waves even through the glossy sheen of the TV screen- and shook a fist at the three idiotic men doubled over in laughter on the lavish couch. "H-Hey! Shut up you bastards! Y-you should all fear me!"

"Ah, Roma!~" interjected Spain through loud guffaws, staring at the figure with obvious adoration. "You are so adorable! I'll give you all of the tomatoes you want, my Lovi!"

The other two's laughter grew considerably louder.

"S-SHUT UP YOU BASTARD."

And then the image of the feisty Italian disappeared from the screen just as quickly as it had come.

A/N: ...

Don't ask questions you don't know the answers to.

Review please? They are what keep me/us going! ;3

~I.S.

P.S.- There are a lot of more fics in the works for this challenge, even though the process of them being finished and posted is kind of slow. But, I really would like to finish this Challenge, be able to say I did and all that, and so I assure you, even if I don't update as fast as I would like to, I (and those that I am collabing with) am working diligently on this fic!