Chapter Text
“Al,” Matthew whined, “We’re going to be late.”
“How can we be late,” Alfred laughed, “I am the host, after all.”
“Which makes it worse,” the Canadian whined.
America continued to laugh as he entered the U.N building, waving to the security staff who seemed to match his grin and enthusiasm back. It had been a long year and a half, after all.
Before they could get too far, America heard someone make a distressed noise near the front of the building. Curious, America turned to see what was happening-- much to his brother’s chagrin.
“Please, if you could all just...calm down!” a woman at the front shouted.
“Sorry Matt, just hold on for a second,” Alfred patted his brother's shoulder and moved to the large group at the entrance.
He put on his Hollywood smile and tapped the distressed woman’s shoulder, “Hello, Ma’am, can I help?”
The woman turned with a small huff, “Probably not.”
“Are you sure about that?” America tried again.
“Well,” she sighed, “I’m finished with the tour, but some of these folks still have questions or are lost or something, but I only speak Spanish and English. I don’t know what they’re saying and I don’t want to be rude but, I just,” she groaned out of frustration.
“Aren’t you lucky then,” Alfred replied with his signature smile, “I speak multiple languages and know the area quite well,” he winked, “I can take a crack at it.”
The woman gave a small smile back, “Could you? It’d be such a great help. With everything opening up again, the tourists have been crazy!”
Alfred laughed good naturedly and turned to the group. He asked them to ask, and after some order was formed, he started answering back in Italian and Russian and...was that Vietnamese? Well, no matter, he would get it all done.
Matt just sighed and watched his multilingual brother “be the hero,” once again. One day he would leave him behind, and be on time for a meeting. But...he guessed today wasn’t the day.
“I didn’t know America spoke Italian!”
Matt nearly jumped out of his skin, “Italy!” he shouted in his quiet voice, “Uhm, yeah, he does.”
Italy turned and jumped, “Oh, I didn’t see you there….”
“Canada.”
“Yes, Canada!” Italy smiled, “Do you speak Italian too?”
Canada chuckled, “No, only English and French I’m afraid.”
Italy nodded, but seemed to be in his own world and ran back to the meeting hall. Matthew, deciding not to bother and wait for Alfred any longer, followed the hyper nation.
“Germany!” Italy shouted when entering the conference room, “Guess what I learned!”
“Italy, will you please not barge in shouting?” Germany sighed.
“Sorry,” Italy replied, but waved it off, “Guess what?”
“What, Italy?” Germany replied, exasperated.
“America speaks Italian fluently!” Italy answered, “I heard him in the hallway.”
Germany blinked, “Fluently?”
“Si!” Italy grinned, “Does that make him Italian?”
“Hardly,” England huffed, “Are you sure it was him? That buffoon can barely speak proper English.”
“It looked like him,” Italy replied, looking unsure, “But he was also speaking something else.”
“America speaks many languages,” Canada chirped in, but it seemed no one heard him.
“There’s no way,” England shook his head, “Why would he speak any other language anyway?”
“Maybe because there’s better languages,” France teased.
“English is a good language!” England shouted back.
“Enough,” Germany shouted, “There will be no arguments before the meeting even starts!”
Italy spoke again, “But Germany, I know he spoke Italian.”
“That’s because he does.”
Everyone turned to see Romano, sipping his cappuccino slowly. Internally, he cringed at the taste. Starbucks would never compare to his homemade.
“Pardon?” England finally said.
“America is multilingual,” Romano shrugged, “What Canada said like two minutes ago, if you Bastards could get your heads out of your own asses.”
Canada blinked, surprised the other even remembered him.
“Fratello, you knew?” the younger Italian asked, tilting his head.
Romano gave a small smirk, “Who do you think taught him the best version?”
Veneziano gave a small pout as France walked over to give Canada a hug in greeting, with the usual kiss on the cheek. After the greeting, he pouted at the other.
“Why did you not mention your brother could speak more languages?”
“And how many does he know?” England added.
“How many nations are there,” Canada shrugged.
“Wait, he knows German?” Germany asked, now mildly concerned. He could distinctly remember a few times he cursed out America in German during a meeting...or two...or all of them.
“Yes,” Canada replied.
The man turned pale.
“He can speak to me too, da?” Russia then asked, giving that creepy smile.
“Look, you can ask him yourself,” Canada rolled his eyes, “he loves practicing...even if his accent is grating.”
“Mon cher, you are one to talk,” France chuckled.
Canada felt himself flush, “Yeah, well, his Creole makes Quebecois seem perfect.”
France seemed to cringe at the other nation.
“Hey dudes!”
America finally entered with a bang. Literally, he opened the doors with too much force and caused them to fling back, making everyone cringe (and Greece wake up for a millisecond).
“America!” England shouted, “You’re late!”
America rolled his eyes, but continued to smile, “Sorry, I was being a hero and all, you know?”
England just rolled his eyes.
Before anyone else could start questioning the american, Romano spoke up from his seat. However, even Italy could barely understand him. Romano was speaking in a thick Sicilian dialect, mixed with something else.
But America just grinned, and responded quickly. He walked over to Romano and spoke rapidly, happily, and seemed to almost overwhelm the other.
“Alright, bastard, alright,” Romano switched back to English so more could understand, “I didn’t need your life story, Jesus.”
“Not a life story,” America pouted.
“Was that Italian?” Japan asked, quietly from Italy’s other side.
Veneziano pouted, “Well, yes, but also ...not really? It was like a mix of Sicilian and something.”
“Oh,” America looked at the other, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s what they used to speak here downtown like...fifty years ago. It’s what I was able to learn.”
“He has a terrible accent, really,” Romano chuckled.
“Hey, I can’t help it!” America whined.
“Uhm, America,” Germany finally spoke up, “Romano and…”
“Canada”
“Yes, Canada, mentioned you’re multilingual?”
American blinked, turning to look at Canada who just shrugged. Well, guess everyone was now curious. No clue why, but whatever.
“Yeah dude, I can speak whatever language you want. Why?”
“How the hell did you learn all these languages when you can barely speak English?!” England shouted from his other side.
America blinked, “Well...I don’t have an official language really so...I just absorbed from when there’s big waves of immigration. I always have an accent though...that kind of sucks.”
“So bad,” Mexico muttered under her breath, “Worse than Spain.”
“What?!” Said nation shouted, “it was mine first!”
“And you use it so poorly,” Mexico responded, causing the North American siblings to laugh along with Romano. Spain could only sigh in defeat. He was too old to fight over these things.
“You should speak to me in French then!” France declared.
America looked at Canada who gave a small shrug, then back to France, “mwen pa panse sa cheri.”
France’s smile quickly turned to open-mouth shock, “Alfred F. Jones!”
“I told you!”
“Do you speak Russian as poorly?” Russia chuckled.
America scowled and flipped him off, “Иди на хуй”
Russia actually looked mildly shocked at the others' crude-- specifically crude-- language. (Lithuania would deny it, but he was definitely chuckling quietly in the back of the room. He knew it was a good idea to perfect Alfred’s curses in Russian).
“Ok, ok,” Germany tried to get everyone’s attention, “I think we should start the meeting, ja? America, if you would.”
“Natuerlich werde ich,” he replied, winking.
Trying not to be taken off guard, Germany just coughed in his hand and motioned for the other to start.
However, before he moved, America leaned down next to Romano and whispered, “Let’s talk our language later, ok?”
Romano, flustered, could only nod and watch the other grin, wink, and head up to the podium. That American bastard really knew how to rile him up still, didn’t he, Romano thought wistfully.
America, on the other hand, couldn’t help but feel gleeful. While he didn’t care much about the others knowing, or hell making fun of him for trying, he did like knowing that Romano still remembered their time together. It was one of his favorite memories, after all.
And besides, you can’t say no when someone greets you with a happy, “Beautiful, it’s good to see you.”