Spazzkitty again. Okay, I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. I loved Turning the World Upside Down so much, I made a sequel. A more dramatic sequel, but what's High School without drama? I don't own Hetalia, but I do own Hungary's burnt eggs. I wish I didn't. I hope all those who enjoyed the prequel love this just as much, despite the lack of early fluff ^-^


Turning the World Right-Side Up

Chapter 1: Hell to Pay

Hungary growled to herself, grumbling various profanities as she shoveled scrambled eggs onto the four plates in front of her. She spread the plates around to the other people sitting at the table with her.

"You burnt them again," Feliciano mumbled, pushing them around the dish with his fork. Elizabeta sighed, reaching out to ruffle Italy's hair.

"I know, Ita-chan. I'm sorry." America, oddly enough, said nothing, taking a bite out of his charred eggs, his face stony. Romano just ignored the eggs, pulling out his lighter and a cigarette, his hands trembling as he fumbled with the package. Hungary snatched the lighter, glowering at him.

"You quit three years ago, Romano."

"Well, I started again. What are you, my mother?" Hungary responded by leaning forward and lighting his shirt on fire. "OH MY GOD! PUT IT OUT PUT IT OUT!" Feliciano panicked and grabbed the jug of water in the middle of the table, dumping the entire thing on his brother. Romano blinked, spitting out a mouthful.

"Thanks, Feliciano," said Hungary agreeably.

"What was that for?" said Romano darkly, wringing out his soaked T-shirt. Hungary stuck her tongue out at him.

"Romano, why did you start smoking again?" America said quietly. He was uncharacteristically pensive and didn't meet anyone's eyes. "Don't you remember? Quitting was hell." Lovino said nothing.

"Nii-chan, just because Spain broke up with you doesn't mean you need to let yourself go back to that dark, sad place," piped up Feliciano. Romano glared at him.

"Don't any of you preach to me!" he spat. "I'm not the only one who got dumped. You're all suddenly single, same as me. I'm not the only one who isn't moving on like everyone always says to! Hungary doesn't pay attention any more to ANYTHING, Italy hasn't smiled or eaten pasta in days, and America is actually quiet! So don't any of you pull that kind of high-and-mighty crap with me. And give me my damn lighter." There was silence after that little bombshell.

"You know what?" America said, rising out of his chair, a familiar twinkle entering his formerly dead-looking eyes. "Asshole is right." He ignored Romano's squawk of protest and slammed one gloved fist onto the table. "So what if England broke up with me? I'm hotter then Romano's shirt was five seconds ago, and I shouldn't be here moping. He doesn't know what he's missing, and I intend to make sure what he's missing is freaking awesome. Who's with me?"

Hungary stood up as well, smirking, throwing Romano's lighter over her shoulder and out the window, where it got run over by a Priass. "I am. If that asshole thinks I'm just going to sit around and mope after a text-message breakup, He'd better think again."

Romano stood with them, hazel eyes flashing, his unlit cigarette forgotten on the table. "Spain sucks," he said. The other two took that as an agreement. Finally, all three of them turned to Italy.

"I.." he started, not making eye contact. "I miss Germany." Tears brimmed in his brown eyes. "I miss the way he used to hold my hand in the hallways. I miss his smiles. I even miss him yelling at me." One drop escaped his eyes and America wiped it gently away with his thumb.

"We all miss them, Ita-chan," said Hungary, pulling him into a hug. "But just sitting around feeling sad won't help with anything." America wrapped both arms around the youngest and the oldest in the group. Finally, all three looked at Romano, who sighed and rather reluctantly entered the group hug.

"Hey, Feli," Romano said gruffly. "I can make you some Bolognese, okay? With lots of marinara sauce and some chocolate milk. Your favorite." Feliciano sniffled.

"Okay," he said, the statement more of a question than an answer. Romano detached himself from the tangle to head off to the kitchen, disposing of Hungary's burned breakfast.

"Lets go get some ice cream," said America in a more subdued voice.

"I like ice cream," said Feliciano, whimpering a little. America ruffled the brunette's hair.

"America, why don't you take the motorcycle and go pick up something from Dairy Queen?" He seemed about to protest, but wisely shut his mouth when he saw Hungary's ferocious glare.

"Okay, what do you want?"

"I DON'T CARE!" she barked. "JUST GO GET SOMETHING!" America left hurriedly, mumbling about PMS, which Hungary graciously chose to ignore.

"Ita-chan," she said gently, pulling him into a hug. He buried his face in her shoulder.

"I really loved him, Hungary. I really loved him."

"I know you did, honey." She soothingly stroked his hair, her emerald eyes dimming when she heard a faint sob.

"I thought he loved me too. Why did he do this to me?" came Italy's muffled, anguished voice.

"I don't know, Italy." That was all Hungary could think to say as she thought back to just two weeks ago, at the spring dance, when everyone had been happy. And during winter break, all that happiness had been shattered. Tomorrow was the start of school, and things would most certainly be awkward. But all Hungary could feel was rage, thinking of little Feliciano's tearstained face, of Romano's hands desperately searching out another cigarette, of America's sapphire eyes surrounded by bags, looking lifeless in his pale, bony face.

"I don't know," she repeated, "But when I find out, Ita-chan, I promise there will be hell to pay."