I just had to do this. I'm sorry... X) Okay I admit it, I'm not sorry.
Calvin & Hobbes belongs to Bill Watterson, and Hetalia belongs to Himaruya. I'm just borrowing them. Apparently I spelled Himaruya wrong the first time I wrote it here... Thank you, A Field of Starlight, for correcting me. *blushes*
Review! :D
"I'm writing a book about my life." A six-year old with unruly blond hair sat at a desk, holding a pen and grinning at his best friend.
Without waiting for a response, he said, "It's called, "Calvin: The Shocking True Story of the Boy whose Exploits Panicked a Nation."
His friend scratched his head. "Interesting title."
"Thanks."
"Specifically, what exploits are you referring to?"
Calvin frowned and turned around in his chair. "That's the problem. Could you help me think up some I could do?"
After a very long time, Hobbes smiled. "I have an idea. But it'll take a lot of work."
Calvin sat up eagerly. "I'm in."
America woke up to the feeling something was happening. He wasn't exactly sure what it was, so he did what he always did; he stumbled downstairs in his Superman boxers and turned on the TV. His phone was off somewhere, charging, and he didn't feel like going around the house to find it. He bonked the remote with a sleepy fist and a late re-run of some show came on. He recalled that stuff was always being blown up. When in doubt, C-4. He took a swig of cold coffee.
He flipped through the channels until his personal news channel, featuring all things American, from tiny thefts to grand evil plans. What he saw shocked him. This can't be true!
On the screen, a boy had proclaimed himself the king and tyrant of America. Nobody could refute his claim, and his parents were nowhere to be found. He was currently under arrest, and he was proudly strutting down the street with a stuffed tiger and, according to the screen, a big cardboard box with a chunky red beanie and an empty water gun inside.
He spat out his coffee. America leaned over and stabbed at his phone. "Oi, Mattie!"
He heard the sounds of his brother yawning. "What is it, America?"
"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"
On the other side of the phone, Canada blinked uncomprehendingly. "Unless we're both staring at the inside of our eyelids, then no..."
"But it's-"
Canada had already hung up and was sprawled in his bed, quite asleep.
America sighed and ran into the kitchen to heat up his cold coffee.
While he was gone, there was a disturbance. The six-year-old had paused to put the box down and reach into it, grabbing the empty water gun. Suddenly fearing that this supposedly innocent weapon could do untold damage, the agents all lunged for it, bonking heads. Not paying attention to their antics, the short blond aimed the gun at himself and pushed the trigger, eyes closed with concentration. The agents were curious despite themselves, and hesitated a moment before pulling the gun out of the kid's hands. It was too late, though.
With a boink, a pterodactyl exploded out of the tight wad of black-suited agents, much to the surprise of all the bystanders. The agents hadn't thought to bring any sort of weapon with them, as he was only six, and the dinosaur was wreaking havoc, diving around and screeching at anyone in view. The stuffed tiger was perched on its back.
When America came back, sipping his now-hot coffee, the utter chaos on the screen made him spit out his coffee again. Slamming his cup on the table, he stormed over to the TV, gaping. "WHAT THE UTTER HELL IS GOING ON!?" But, to be fair, he was also excited, as well. He wanted to turn into a pterodactyl...or at least to own one...
The pterodactyl flapped around, and then crashed into the camera, rendering the screen fuzzy with static. America jabbed a button, and a multitude of tiny camera screens filled the TV. He selected the one with the most movement. And it turned out somebody was having a block-buster party in a New York Subway. Wrong screen.
The American went back to the selection screen, gritting his teeth. Time's a-wasting.
The next screen showed several pterodactyls, and he could clearly see the word written on the box. It read 'Duplicator, V2.0', in big chunky letters.
"WHAT THE HECK HOW DOES A SIX-YEAR-OLD SUDDENLY PERFECT THE TECHNOLOGY WE'VE BEEN WORKING ON FOR YEARS!? HOW DOES HE EVEN HAVE A SECOND VERSION? HOW COME WE WEREN'T AWARE OF THIS!?" America charged around his house in frustration while yelling into his cellphone at a flustered agent, leaving his coffee neglected by the lamp. He didn't think he needed it. He was more than awake now.
The American ran out of his house, still shouting into his phone. "STEVEN! FLY ME TO...THE DINOSAURS!" His voice-activated jet (something he'd been working on for ages) swooped down next to him, and he leaped in, determination on his face. I'm going to save the world from a crazy child, and be a hero.
On the plane, he watched the replay of what he'd missed when he'd gone to get coffee. Within five minutes (Steven the plane was incredibly advanced, with help from Japan), America landed at the chaos zone.
The first thing that came to his attention was the banging sound of four pterodactyls flinging themselves against the metal. The American frowned. Weren't there five?
His thoughts were distracted by one of the dinosaurs punching through the door. America jumped. "AAH! STEVEN, ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?"
He didn't receive a response as pterodactyl's wings buffeted his hair, and another was trying to bite him in a tender area. The shock of dinosaurs worse off, and self-defense kicked in. He knocked it away, sending it flying against the wall, and then turned his attention to untangling ones feet before it yanked all his hair out. In short order, all four pterodactyls were tied up in the cockpit, glaring at him.
America let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and smoothed his hair back. He fixed Texas on his nose and stepped outside.
His foot came down on the little not-water gun that the kid had used that made the BOINK sound, and he quickly backed up before he crushed it. He had to study this tech, replicate it, and use it...Boy, won't Japan be jealous of me now! I've got a hand-held dinosaur maker! Think about that later. America combed his thoughts back into order.
He stood in front of his plane, and immediately an agent came rushing over. "Mr. Jones." She offered a salute and a report. "At 2:13AM we were alerted to a...disturbance in this region. The child had poured gasoline on his back yard and lit it on fire, reading out the proclamation. He then stole a car with a megaphone, shouting that he was king and tyrant of America now." America struggled to hide a smile. It's not that easy, kid.
"Since he was disturbing the public peace and could've possibly been a threat, we had to take him into custody. You've seen what happened from there."
America nodded. "Do you know where he is now?"
The agent shook her head. "Negative, sir."
As the nation opened his mouth to respond, there was a grinding, rushing sound of water and machinery. Fearing another appearance of the mysteriously advanced child, America tensed and whirled around, searching for the source of the sound. It was not hard to find.
Sealand suddenly bounced out of the shadows, ignoring all the agents' commands to stop and the threat of being shot at. "Hi Uncle America! I heard there was a disturbance, so I came! Once I save you all, you'll finally recognize me as a nation! Where's the problem? I'll take care of it!"
America smiled. "Hey, kiddo! There's actually no problem right now, anyway-"
"Aww!" Sealand slumped. "I was so sure I was gonna save you I brought my whole fort!"
"It's all ri- You brought your fort? Where? How?"
Sealand beamed again. "See? I made it come up through somebody's bathtub!"
America stared in the direction indicated. The concrete and metal fort was precariously balanced on the second floor of someone's house, spewing impossibly from a white porcelain blob that must've been the bathtub. Somebody was standing in the ruins of their second floor and yelling incoherent threats. The nation turned his eyes down to look at his nephew, who was so pleased with himself he practically glowed. "Uh...that's great, Sealand."
The micronation nodded vigorously. "Mhmm! Now I can help you!"
The American hesitated, looking off to the side. As much as he wanted to encourage Sealand's dreams of being a nation, now was most definitely not the time. As he opened his mouth to say so, an idea suddenly struck him. "Hey, wait, you can bring up your fort through any spot of water?"
"Duh." Sealand rolled his eyes.
"There is something you could do..."
With Sealand off on his search for the six-year-old, America looked at the gun in his hand. "Do you know what this does?" he inquired of the agent. She wasted no time in informing him. "It apparently turns things into pterodactyls." Her forehead wrinkled. "We're not sure how."
The American nodded again. "Just as I thought."
He took the gun back inside Steven and showed it to the pterodactyls. They had no reaction except to hiss at him, which was normal for them. The American sighed and aimed it at a convenient desk lamp. "Abrashazam!" He pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened, except that the pterodactyls started to laugh. It was a strangely human noise. "Fine!" snapped the nation. "If you're so smart, you tell me how to do it."
To his complete and utter surprise, one spoke up. "Well," it said in patronizing tones, "you've got to-"
Another one shoved it. "Shut up, five! Don't give the out secrets to the enemy!"
The first one shoved back. "Just because you're two doesn't make you the boss of me!"
A third one jumped it. "Old people have no sense of imagination."
Both two and five rounded on it. "THAT'S A HINT, MORON!"
"...imagination." America mulled it over. "So you're saying I need to imagine something? What if I'm imagining a big slab of grilled tuna right now?"
"That's what he said," spat the last pterodactyl contemptuously, while the other three screeched "WATCH WHERE YOU'RE POINTING THAT!"
"Good job," muttered the pterodactyls to the one who'd spoken up. "You've given it all away."
America aimed the gun at the lamp again, imagining a cup of coffee. He pressed the trigger.
Nothing happened. He rounded on the heap of dinosaurs. "I'm doing what you said! Why isn't it working!"
"It's out of uses," replied the dinosaurs snidely. "The other one used them all up transmogrifying things into iguanas."
The American facepalmed. "Thanks," he grumbled.
Suddenly, Steve alerted him to a second presence on the plane. The nation groped around for a weapon, and ended up pointing the useless transmogrifier gun at the door.
Sealand ran in, smiling. "I found the person, Uncle America!" Then he frowned. "Why're you pointing a water gun at me?"
America through the gun aside. "Um, don't mind that. Where's the kid? Do you have him with you?"
Sealand shook his head. "No, he flew away and I couldn't reach him."
America raised an eyebrow. "He flew?"
The micronation nodded. "Yep! He has a red flying hat. But he's in Washington DC now, so you can get him!"
The American groaned. "It'll take too long to get there."
"Not for me! C'mon, Uncle 'Murica!" He dragged the confused American out the door, across the yard, and onto the fort, which had risen out of a puddle in the street. "Are you sure-" began America, but his voice was cut off as the fort squeezed through the ground. There was a blinding, dizzyingly nauseous sensation, like the top of a rollercoaster, and then suddenly the fort squirted out, coming up underwater.
America thrashed and floundered, trying not to pull in any water. I'm drowning, he thought in a panic, and flailed at the water uselessly. His arms bashed something rough, and he tried to kick off of it. His head broke the surface, finally, and he sucked in air in great gasps, relief coursing through his veins.
Then he realized he was staring at Sealand's knees.
Then he realized that the water was only two feet deep.
Then he realized that they were in the lake in front of the Washington Memorial.
The American stood up, dripping wet, while Sealand unsuccessfully tried to hide his laughter. "You're funny, Uncle. Better than Jerkland is."
America frostily walked over to the edge of the man-made pool and stepped out of it. "Where did you say the kid was?"
"Oh, he was headed to that big white building."
"The White House?" The nation shuddered at the thoughts of any terrorism this kid could commit. He'd already proved himself to be a scientific genius. What else could he do?
He took off running, Sealand trotting behind him. "Wait for me...!"
When the micronation finally caught up to him, the American was hurdling the wrought iron fence that separated the public from the finely worked grounds. The nation only gained speed as he raced across the lawn, his feet tearing up the grass behind him. Security guards on patrol converged, but then slowed their advance when they recognized him.
Because behind the line of small trimmed hedges was a small figure with blond hair and a red-and-black striped shirt with a stuffed tiger, jabbing the doorbell furiously. "He should wake up! I'm taking over his office!" The American heard him complain. With a burst of speed, he splashed through the fountain, leaped over the hedges, and skidded to a halt inches from the boy.
He turned around, looking decidedly unimpressed. "So who are you supposed to be?"
America straightened, and decided to go for it. "I'm your nation. You seriously panicked me. Do you know what kind of offense that is?"
To his surprise, the boy cheered and sprang up and down. "I did it! I panicked a nation! Didja hear that, Hobbes? The plan worked! It worked it worked it worked!" As suddenly as the jubilancy had started, it stopped, and the boy gave him a doubting look.
"How are you even a nation in the first place?"
America scowled. "I'm a nation, and that's that! Who are you to doubt me?"
The boy looked at him cynically. "Well, you look like a crazed hobo wearing soggy superhero underpants."
America squelched the desire to throttle the kid. "You're under arrest."
The kid grinned wider than ever. When the nation scowled deeper, the boy only said, "Nailed it!"
"...so then I got sent to jail for the night," Calvin continued. "And my parents weren't very happy that I'd tied them up and put them in my tree house, so I was in hot water for a real long time."
Everyone else in the classroom rolled their eyes. Mrs. Wormwood tried to interrupt for the umpteenth time. "Yes, Calvin, very-"
"But in the end, I got to write my book! And that is what I did this summer," said the six-year-old in conclusion, and he began to strut back to his seat.
"Hold up, wait a moment," said Susie. "Your book is called 'Calvin: The Shocking True Story of the Boy whose Exploits Panicked a Nation'."
"And we're all so glad that you can read," said Calvin sarcastically. "Now, can I sit down, or are you going to make dumb statements?"
Undeterred, Susie carried on. "But exploits is plural, and you allegedly only did one thing."
Calvin stopped to think about it. "Well, yes, but my life has hardly started. You think I'm just gonna stop at one?"