I really shouldn't be uploading a new story, but I just can't update the others. HetaCraft is still going, and my other Hetalia stories are dormant. Everything else is dead.

This is based on the training dummy in my school's field house. My friend came up with a name for it, thus the title.

Warning: RusAme frienemy-ship (Alfred and Ivan trolling/ trying to kill each other), this is told in Alfred's perspective, some crack

2 OC's are also mentioned but don't play an important part in the story.

José- OC Mexico

Maria- OC Philippines

Also appearances by Grandpa Rome, Mr. UN, and Fem! England

Chapter 1: Frienemies

Gym class is usually fun. Except when my stupid gym shorts creep down my thighs when Mr. Weillschmidt makes us do crunches. I also hate it whenever our class has to do running, which is today. Too bad the football unit ended last week.

We were standing in front of our lockers, changing into those annoying shorts I previously mentioned. My brother, Matthew, was right next to me.

"Alfred, don't stare!" he whispered like he was yelling. Matt couldn't seem to talk loudly when he tried.

"I'm not staring! I have the feeling someone else is watching you get dressed so I'm trying to protect my little bro,"

"Technically, I'm older than you," he said after pulling his shirt down.

"Yeah, but I'm the hero of the family! So are you running today? 'Cause I don't feel like it,"

"I don't know. If only they had hockey as a choice,"

"Look, Mattie, just because you spent the first seven years of your life in Canada doesn't mean you have to rub it it my face. So are you running or not?"

"I don't know, Al. I promised Ivan I would go with his choice for this week,"

I jumped backwards and hit some guy when he mentioned that name.

"Whoa. Ivan? Ivan Braginsky? As in Ivan Psycho-Commie-Who-Tried-To-Murder-Me-Eight-Times Braginsky?"

"Alfred, Ivan's not a psycho or a commie. And I'm pretty sure he didn't try to murder you eight times,"

"Yeah, you're right. He tried to murder me nine times, including the time he tried to shove my sock down my throat,"

"That's because you shoved pencils up his nostrils,"

"Because he tried to make me swallow a freaking plastic bag!"

"You two should stop fighting before one of you gets hospitalized,"

"Remember the time he put a cleaver in our mailbox?"

"He's not such a bad guy if you don't constantly try to kill him,"

"Mattie, that's the same guy who modified his Nerf gun and shot you in the legs when we were eight. One foam bullet even pierced through my skin! Why are you friends with that guy?"

"Yeah. I would come home with bruises covering my legs and Papa would make me crepes with maple syrup so I would stop crying," What's with him and nostalgia anyway?

"We should go before we're late," I interrupted.

"But I need to wait for Ivan,"

I stood on one of the benches in the locker room and yelled at the top of my lungs "Braginsky, you commie! Get your homicidal butt over here! Your boyfriend's waiting for you!"

No sign of him yet. Just the hysterical laughter of a bunch of other guys and Matthew blushing, until he yelled back.

"I didn't know you thought of me that way, Alfred! I'm so flattered!"

The laughing continued.

"Hahaha! Al, that's so gay!" One of my friends snickered. Ha, snickered. I like Snickers bars, they taste good.

"Shut up, José! And listen, you commie! Say that again and I'll see how you like your sock shoved down your throat!"

"That's okay because my socks probably don't smell like rotting garbage unlike yours!"

"Why, you mentally unstable commie!"

Then, the door slammed open.

"Who is yelling?" a strict voice with a heavy German accent boomed from the entrance.

"It was Alfred and Ivan, sir!" José told on us.

"Oh, alright then," Weillschmidt closed the door and walked away.

Yeah, this is an everyday scene in our PE locker room, so the teacher doesn't care anymore if it's Braginsky and I fighting.

"Let's go, Matt," I told my brother.

"So Alfred, about your confession, I'm sorry but I'm not attracted to you-"

"Shut your trap, vodka-breath!"

He hit the back of my head with his fist, and my glasses fell to the tiled floor. I picked them up and continued walking.

"You know, Maria and Elizabeta told me 'The more you hate somebody, the more you love them.' Do you love me, Alfred?"

"Ew! Hell no! And you talked to Maria? What did you do to her?"

"Don't be so worried about your ex. I'm not trying to kill her or anything,"

"You better not be forcing her to become one with you or-"

"So I heard Weillschmidt is watching the run for today," he totally ignored me.

"Which Weillschmidt? The awesome one, or the one who acts like he has a stick shoved up his butt," that's what I hate about teachers having the same name, especially if one is a strict tight-ass, and the other one is someone you want to spend your weekend playing video games with.

"I'm not sure, but yesterday, I saw the strict Weillschmidt talking to a stick in the parking lot. He even called it Herr Schtick and talked about feeding it wurst,"

"Dude, I don't know if you're a credible source unlike Wikipedia but that is hilarious!"

I cracked up and so did he. It's one of those times when we actually get along until he ruins the moment.

"Not as hilarious as the camera I installed in your bathroom window when you were asleep," just like that.

He was still laughing hysterically but I stopped.

"Okay, man, that's just disturbing,"

His laugh turned into that creepy, evil Russian laugh he does whenever Raivis messed with him. Something like "Kol kol kol kol kol kol..." and I swear that I saw a purple aura around him every time he did it.

We were already in the field house when we stopped our...chatting. It turned out that Herr Schtick-Weillschmidt was watching the run.

"Jones and Braginsky are doing the run together," Herr Schtick-Weillschmidt said in monotone. "Right, would you boys prefer doing separate activities instead?"

"Nope, I'm good," I said acting all cool.

"As long as you don't try to trip me when I'm running, Jones. We both know I always end up breaking your leg every time you do that," said the psycho.

"Actually, you broke my hand the last time I did that because you sat on it and you're so fat!"

"This, Jones," he pointed at his body, "is mostly muscle, unlike your overweight behind caused by your everyday diet of McDonald's,"

"Enough!" Weillschmidt roared. "You two, start running now! Everyone else, you are walking for two minutes!"

And so, I pushed my legs to start moving. I'm so ahead of Braginsky's fat ass. I'm like ten yards ahead of him. Wait- did he just pass by me?

"You wanna race, huh?"

I sped up a little and started sprinting. I ran two laps and I was behind him again, so when I was inches away from him, I put my foot between his legs and pulled them apart so he tripped. Instead, he caught himself and fell on purpose by elbowing me in the gut and falling backwards on top of me. Ew, not that kind of on top of me. (*cough* fangirls *cough*)

Weillschmidt blew on his whistle and called our names.

"You two! Stop goofing off! Braginsky, get up and run the other way on the third lane! Jones, fourth lane, same direction! Go!" he blew on his whistle again.

So, I ran with my left arm in the normal jogging position and my right arm stretched in front of me like Superman when he flies. So when Ivan and I approached each other at full speed, I punched him on the chest with all that force. The whistle blew again.

"Jones! Get on the first lane!"

I ran on the border between the first and second lane. I saw Ivan coming. I laid down on the second and third lane and he tripped on my legs. Bullseye!

I forgot to get up so he stepped on my face.

The whistle blew again.

"You two, fifty pushups at the back corner of the room!"

I hate both of them now.

So I obeyed his command and started doing pushups. Not "girl" pushups, the hero doesn't do that. Ivan wasn't even trying, how unheroic. The psycho commie was busy staring at the wrestling team's training dummy.

"Hey, Alfred, ChaCha is staring at your overweight behind," he said childishly.

Ivan is such a kid sometimes.

"Who?"

"ChaCha the Rape Doll. You're doing your pushups wrong and your behind is up in the air, so ChaCha is staring at you,"

"Don't be stupid, Ivan-" I looked behind me and Ivan stood next to the creepy wrestling dummy.

It was a thick, 3D stick figure made of some kind of black cloth and whatever stuffed animals were stuffed with, attached to the blue and green wall, sitting on an invisible chair with its legs spread apart, its arms wide open for a Pedobear-approved hug, and its faceless head just staring into your soul. And it was right behind me while I was doing pushups.

"It looks kind of suggestive in my point of view," Ivan laughed.

I stopped at fifteen pushups and stood up.

"Let's see how you like ChaCha's deadly hugs, Braginsky!" I threatened.

The freak just went in front of the dummy and hugged it. He hugged it.

"ChaCha is my best friend, da?" he smiled. The lifeless training dummy's arms and legs wrapped around him like a woman in those soap operas José, Yong Soo, and Maria liked to watch.

The whistle blew again.

"Braginsky! This is not wrestling practice!" the teacher screamed at Ivan's face and hurt my ears.

Ivan held on to ChaCha and smirked at Weillschmidt. I never saw Ivan smirk like that before, except this one time he gave me food poisoning by messing with my cheeseburger.

He slowly let go of the dummy and whispered to me "Alfred, let's piss him off,"

I knew exactly what to do.

That's how Ivan and I ended up skipping around Herr Schtick-Weillschmidt like little girls and bronies around a unicorn. We had our derp-faces on while chanting "ChaCha! ChaCha! ChaCha!" without end.

"Principal's office! Immediately!" Herr Schtick-Weillschmidt ordered.

Braginsky and I merrily skipped out of the field house and through the hallways with our arms interlocked, still chanting "ChaCha! ChaCha! ChaCha!"

We never stopped doing it, even when we entered the office. The secretary, Mr. Vargas- yeah, the secretary is a guy- stared at us like we're bigger idiots than his grandsons, who also went to our school. Then, we took each other's hands, not homo, and we went round and round like my mom's old records.

"I assume you two were sent here to see Mr. UN. Go now," Mr. Vargas said.

Braginsky and I pranced into Mr. UN's office, and we still sang "ChaCha! ChaCha! ChaCha!"

The frustrated principal sighed "Didn't I tell you two that I'll expel you the next time you fight?"

We just kept dancing in the circle singing "ChaCha! ChaCha! ChaCha!"

Mr. UN pressed a couple buttons on the desk phone. Yeah, he had our guardians on speed dial.

"Hello, Katyusha? Yes, it's about Ivan. Alright, thank you," he's even on first name terms with them, since they talked so much already.

"Hello, Alice? Yes, Alfred was misbehaving again. Okay, thank you, ma'am," the conversations even went as short as five seconds. Principal calls home, Mum comes here, we get threatened to get expelled- Yes, threatened. It came to the point where warnings were pointless- and that's how it went for a long time now.

We continued to sing "ChaCha! ChaCha! ChaCha!" without tiring out our lungs. It got on everyone's nerves.

"Be quiet!"

We never listened.

"ChaCha! ChaCha! ChaCha!"

I started to shake my booty and flail my arms while Ivan was speed-Cossack dancing until he slipped and fell. We laughed while chanting "ChaCha! ChaCha! ChaCha!" and Mr. UN called security. We got dragged away to an empty classroom with a supervisor, who had to endure the never ending ChaCha merriment. We grew out of breath slowly, so Ivan recorded our voices in his iPhone, which he hid in his jacket with the volume at full blast. I thought I saw the supervisor's left eye twitch as the phone went "ChaCha! ChaCha! ChaCha!" on loop while Ivan and I danced in a circle again while lip-syncing the words.

Half an hour later, my legs felt like Jello. The supervisor cried in the emo corner and we continued dancing until Ivan's hot sister and my nagging British mum entered the room.

"Vanya, are you okay?" his sister asked with concern.

"Someone broke Alfred!" my mum said.

"Wait, are they getting along?"

"I don't believe it!"

"ChaCha! ChaCha! ChaCha!"

"Alfred F. Jones, stop this nonsense at once!"

"Oh dear, Ivan! Can you hear me?"

"Will you two bloody wankers quit dancing and listen up!" Alice finally lost it.

The supervisor looked up and probably questioned her parenting skills and why I ended up like this.

"Yes, Mother?" I tried to do a puppy dog face.

"That face isn't working, Alfred,"

"Why is it that the big guy can pull off the cute puppy face and I can't?"

Seriously, Ivan was doing it and he actually looked cute. Ew, not that way! Cute like a kitten in a cup, not cute like his hot sister.

"What did you do this time, you git?"

"You know, the usual. We tried to kill each other,"

"Continue,"

"And then we found ChaCha and became friends,"

"What?" Alice and Katyusha both gasped. The supervisor's eye twitched.

To be continued...