Author: Cyhirae

Notes: Well I attempted a Hetalia fanfic a li'l while back but simply put: I always write serious stuff. I like writing serious stuff; but just once I want to write something silly and well...Hetalia's my chance to do it. Sadly, I fail at silly. Oh well. Anyhow! I decided to have a little showdown between Russia and America. We know the two like to mess with each other…but Russia never predicted the weapon America would bring to bear.

No one expects Ray Stevens! Guess technically this is a song fic...maybe? And human names used; now that I've tracked down the names for Estonia and Latvia.

Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine, the characters are not mine. Surfing USSR belongs to Ray Stevens. Mr. Robot and Styx are also not mine. Only whatever I was drinking when I wrote this belongs to me.

The Cold War had been dragging on; by now, Ivan was used to it. Sooner or later, Alfred would call on his boss' behalf to request something ridiculous and then he could turn it back on them and let them know America was still far too young to think it could keep itself afloat in these kinds of games.

Ivan had been playing them before that speck of continent had even been put on the maps. Alfred simply didn't stand a chance.

Smiling contentedly, Ivan rested his chin on his hand while his other hand fiddled with the knob of the radio; the weather was abysmal, as it usually was. This if course meant that the radio was being stubborn about picking up a station. Ivan kept trying, contented smile tapering off into a concerned frown as the music he had waited for didn't appear. None of the news broadcasts were on the air either.

"I-is something wrong with the r-radio..?" Raivis paused on his way to the kitchen, the concerned look on Ivan's face making his stomach sink. If Ivan didn't get his music, he'd just drink even more so he wouldn't notice the silence. That never ended well for them.

"It is only- ah! There we go. We have a station in now, da?" Ivan smiled pleasantly as the smaller nation shuddered, forcing up a smile before darting out to the kitchen. The larger nation listened as the radio cracked, plainly trying to pick up on a signal. A heavy hand applied to the radio made the speakers emit a squeal, then the noise died down as actual sound began to come through clearly.

Ivan paused a moment, then stared at the hapless little radio as the strains that emerged were…not what he expected. What on earth-

"We've got a soviet sub; she's a '79~! She's got a nuclear reactor and she runs real fine. We're loyal to the party and the party line; but a sailor's gotta have a little fun sometime~"

It took Ivan a moment to register what he was hearing. Twangy, strange sounding…things…he wasn't sure what kind of supposed instrument that was even supposed to be. And the words; they were English. Ivan frowned at the offending device and began turning the knob again; how had his radio managed to pick up something like that? The sound cut out again for a bit as he moved the dial further along…but soon enough, another station started to come in. Leaning back in his chair, Ivan closed his eyes to listen to the forming music coming out of the radio. A nice bottle of vodka was all this needed and-

"We were out in the pacific where it's nice'n deep; when our sonar operator went'n fell asleep. Then a terrible crashing awakened every hand; and we wound up stuck here in the California sand~!"

Ivan sat back up, eyes locked on the dial. It was a different station; he was sure of. And yet that awful sounding song was on this one too. This had to be some kind of mistake or he had fallen asleep and was having some truly bizarre dream….

"Now here we are~! Surfin' USSR! Malibu USA! With all the movie stars! Well I'm getting' kinda tan, getting good on guitar! Come along and be my li'l com'ma sar~! We don't want no nuclear fight, we just wanna have a beach party tonight!"

As an absolutely terrible 'attempt' at Russian folk vocals emerged amid the equally mangled attempts at the language, Ivan brought his hand down against the radio yet again, trying to shake the annoying, catchy tune out of its circuitry.

"Where are the proper stations? Why is this all that is playing?" Ivan kept turning the dial; more stations were coming in now, but not a single one was playing what it should be. All that he was hearing was that song, fading in and out as he twisted the dial back and forth rapid fire.

"We thought the girls were bewitchin' back at Moscow U; 'til we saw the li'l hunnies here at Malibu~! One look through the periscope and we all flipped; there was a mutiny aboard the People's ship!"

Ivan roared and yanked the radio up from the table, shaking it viciously before pitching it toward the window. At the door way, the Baltic nations stared in terror as Ivan stormed toward the kitchen, trying to ignore the determined radio still somehow playing out the final strains of that song…before starting them over again.

Toris frowned and then inched over to the window to look out, a sudden thought occurring to him. Ivan's radio couldn't still be playing; it had to be plugged in and he saw no plug at all coming from the sad little creation sitting in the snow. He ducked down behind the table to see the cord was still in the wall; but it wasn't even snagged on anything or broken as it should have been.

In fact, it led to the perfectly intact, sad looking little radio gathering dust; someone had tucked it away in some obscure cabinet that didn't look to have been used in years. Toris sighed and pulled the radio out, dusting it off to gingerly place on the table. Telling Ivan what had happened had a troublesome mix of results: obviously someone had crept in here and swapped the radios out. A glance to Raivis and Eduard confirmed what he already knew to be impossible: neither of them had been insane enough to do this.

And the radio was still playing; battery powered, then. Not something you would commonly find in Russia at a price any of them could afford, anyway. Steeling himself, Toris went to the door of the ominously silent kitchen…Ivan was probably drinking at this very moment. If he could catch him before he got too drunk, perhaps he could keep the situation from getting any worse.

Toris stopped cold in the door way, however, on seeing Ivan sitting stock still. A vodka bottle was in one hand and a glass in the other; but that distinct scent of the potent beverage was missing from the air. Instead, there was a distinctly sweet scent in the air. Ivan turned slowly to face Toris, hand slowly extending the bottle. Faint cracks could be seen in the glass from where he was gripping it.

"Haha..hahaha….it seems like…we had a visitor. Haha..Hahahah! Very funny, da? Da?!"

Toris inched forward and sniffed at the bottle warily as Ivan cackled in a strange, high pitched sort of way; and his spirits sank. Flat lemon-lime soda. That was what was in Ivan's vodka bottle. It was probably in all of them, given the number of them sitting on the floor. Ivan continued to laugh, releasing the bottle and letting it drop or be caught as it would, hands gripping the table before him.

"He has quite a sense of humor, da?! America most certainly does-!"

Toris sighed and inched away slowly, gesturing for the other two to start for the door, now. They had probably no less than five minutes to find a bottle of vodka and get it into Ivan's stomach before the Cold War ended and World War III began.

Alfred; just once, can't you think things through before you do them? Still, his back to the likely soon to be raging nation, Toris couldn't help but smile. Ivan was old and clever under that childish and often cruel behavior; but apparently he just hadn't anticipated childish whimsy and prank playing. I guess Alfred still has some growing up to do.

"So did it go well?" Alfred's boss watched the exuberant nation over steepled fingers; he was in his uniform but it hardly changed his demeanor at all, it seemed.

"It went perfect! We slipped several of our cultural icons into Russia to be circulated among everyone!" Alfred looked ever so pleased with himself then, arms crossing. "They'll never know what hit them!"

"Good, good…so what about Japan?" Now the blond haired nation slowed up, looking a little baffled to be honest. "You did stop by there on the way to Russia, didn't you?"

"Um…yeah, well about that…" Alfred scratched at his head a moment and shrugged, suddenly looking a little helpless. "I did the same thing I did at Russia, but I think it didn't go quite right…" His boss looked to be about to ask what he meant when the phone rang. Alfred quieted down, fiddling with his glasses as his boss answered, wondering how to break the news to him that it hadn't gone as planned at all.

The man listened for a moment on the phone, expression growing steadily more bemused before he voiced his parting pleasantries and set the phone back on the hook. He sighed deeply and looked to Alfred, a headache visibly threatening to form.

"The Prime Minister of Japan thanks you for your kind contribution to proving that we are trying our utmost to embrace their culture. He has graciously offered to send us teachers to help us better grasp the workings of the language as we could not even properly manage a phrase like 'Domo arigatou, Mister Roboto.'" Alfred smiled sheepishly as his boss leveled a glare at him; well that plan had been a bust.

"How was I supposed to know they would like Styx so much?"

~fin~