(Disclaimer: APH. Still not mine.)

The voyage had started off well enough. England and his crew were returning from the New World and, apart from running low on supplies, things appeared to be going their way.

Or so it seemed, until he heard a bright voice call out "Oi Inglaterra!" before being attacked by a Spanish ship.

However, England was not a celebrated pirate captain for nothing and in a short amount of time, England had captured Spain, sunken the other's ship, and was now the proud owner of chests upon chests of…

"…Tomatoes, Spain? Where is all of the Spanish gold? Why do you have so many damn tomatoes?"

"For Romano of course~" The tied-up Spain managed a shrug and grinned. "They truly are quite delicious, Inglaterra. You should try one sometime."

England spluttered, throwing the tomato he had been holding back into the box. "Eat it? Those things are poisonous! No wonder you're," England paused, struggling for the right word, "…you. Take him below deck." Without another word, England's crew roughly removed the Spaniard.

--

Once again, things were smooth sailing, and England sat in his rooms, enjoying a moment of relaxation with a cup of tea and a book. His moment of peace was shattered, however, when the boat rocked suddenly, causing him to spill his tea. He jumped up from his seat, glaring at his ruined shirt, before growling when he heard a loud "The French are attacking!"

"He wouldn't," England grumbled, quickly making his way to the top of the ship. He sighed at the sight that met his eyes. "He would."

There, attacking England's ship as if it were just a mere merchant's, was a vessel that England recognized as belonging to a certain perverted Nation. England's crew looked to him, waiting for orders.

"Do I really have to tell you to attack back?" He snapped, and the men quickly leapt into action.

--

It took even less time to defeat the French ship than it had to defeat the Spanish one. England was determined to enjoy watching the other ship go down, and so kept brushing off one of the crew members who kept talking to him. When his ship was once again the only one left in the area, England finally turned to the boy standing next to him. "What?"

"Captain, sir, we're out of rope to tie the prisoner with," The boy mumbled, wary of the captain's anger.

England stared at him, not sure he heard right. "Did you say we're out of rope?" He asked quietly.

"Yes?"

England sighed again. Why couldn't a voyage be smooth from the beginning to the very end? "Then tie him to the Spaniard and keep them both locked up until we get to port."

"Yes, captain," The boy said quickly before running off.

--

"Angleterre, you surely don't mean—"

"I do."

"Inglaterra, how do you expect—"

"I'm sure you'll find a way."

With a loud splash, Spain and France found themselves in the water not too far from port, but still tied together. England laughed as his boat sailed away, leaving the two unfortunate Nations stranded in an unfamiliar area.

"Well, Espagne, what do you suggest we do now?"

"Swim?"

France sighed, looking utterly miserable. "I suppose we have no choice, do we?"

It was awkward. Spain and France had been tied, left foot to left foot, left hand to left hand, and they wound up floating and splashing more than swimming. They got no closer to shore, but an amused local finally took pity on the drowning Nations and sailed out to untie them. Of course, he informed them that they'd still have to swim to shore on their own, but surely it would be easier with two legs as opposed to three, right?