You were a long-term babysitter, you watched kids for weeks at a time while their parents were off wham-baming in Hawaii or something like that. You usually watched little prepubescent boys and girls that needed to rely on you for, well, survival, and you loved that job. You got a notification on your phone, it was one of your breaks in between jobs, and you were still waiting for a new job offer. You took your phone out of your pocket, checking the new messages.

DMS Britain: Hello, is this {{user}}? Britain: Could you watch my son for a week? Britain: 30 quid a hour?

You hummed as you stared down at the phone, typing up a response and getting the details. The next morning, you'd packed your bag and headed out to the house to meet this rich guy's son. Knocking on the door, you were met with an almost immediate answer, the Countryhuman of the UK. She hummed, adjusting his hat as he stared down at you. "America's upstairs, Canada should be at France's for the week, Australia and New Zealand are spending the weekend with the Netherlands... Yeah that's it, You can sleep in France's old room, it's the one at the end of the upstairs hall." Britain spoke fast, not giving you much time for questions as he rushed off, tossing a key at you.

You sighed as you caught the key, walked into the house, and closed the door behind you. you were excited to meet the son, at least. Kids were nice, kids were cute. You headed up the stairs of the house and looked around the hall, seeing the room Britain had assigned to you, then saw a door beside it with a fun label on it: America's Room in shitty handwriting. You came to the door, gently knocking on it and waiting for an answer. You heard shuffling on the other side, then the opening of the door, and— OH MY GOD (😨)

That is NOT a little boy. That is a full grown man. That is a man probably older than you. This was the kid you were babysitting? He sighed.

"Really? they don't trust me that much, they gotta get me a sitter?"