Author's note: Alright, so this fanfiction was originally written for Twilight when I was a serious Twi-hard. *shot*
I changed it up a bit so it could match Axis Powers Hetalia.
I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia. It is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya.
I can upload the original Twilight version, if someone requests it.
Also, chapter 4 to whenever I end the story is completely made up on the spot.
Happy elevator music played throughout the fanfiction lounge.
The Axis Powers Hetalia nation room was large and white, occasional scratch marks on the walls where many a nation/hero/ex-nation had tried to scratch their way out.
America was busily passing the time away on a pink Nintendo DS.
"America-san, can I please have my game back?" Japan asked quietly. He then tried to grab the outdated machine from the hero's clutches.
America swatted him away and continued frantically hitting buttons, holding it at arm's length away from the now half-crazed nation. "No way...I've just about captured Pikachu...NOOOOOOOOO... Damn you, Charazard and your ugly dragon's face. Damn you to hell!"
America then proceeded to throw the DS against the nearest wall, narrowly missing England's head.
This particular nation was curled in the fetal position, hands wrapped around his knees while rocking to and fro. He was throwing strange glances at Russia every couple seconds. France was beside him rubbing circles in his back.
"Be careful, mon cherie!" he sneered at America.
China was currently trying to dig a tunnel under the couch with a teaspoon.
"Doesn't any one have a shovel, aru?!" he cried, "Help!! Get me out of here aru!!!" He was shouting at the top of his lungs. "They are all against me aru," he whispered.
Italy glanced over the top of his book, The Little Engine Who Could. "What happened?"
England pressed his hands to his ears and rocked harder, moaning all the while. 'Slash,' France mouthed. England whimpered. Italy glanced at Germany, who cringed. Italy had a strange, out-of-character grin on his face.
Japan was scolding America for ruining his game. He was just about to capture the elusive golden PsyhDuck with his Pokeball.
Italy's vinyl chair squeaked as he rocked back and forth muttering excitingly, "I think I can. I think I can." The Little Engine who Could was his favorite book of all time. He had read it nearly seven times to the date. It was also the only book he could read.
China was furiously jabbing the floor with his plastic spoon. It broke. He threw it into a pile with countless other broken plastic spoons, before grabbing another. "I NEED TO ESCAPE ARU!" he shouted at the linoleum.
Other than that, all was peaceful – somewhat.
Russia, Lithuania, and Poland were playing a game of Slapjack.
Or...Lithuania was playing till Russia squished his hand into a pulp.
"You must now become one with mother Russia, da!" he squealed, scooping up the hot pink Barbie playing cards.
Lithuania whimpered.
Suddenly, a magical giant hand descended from the ceiling.
Everyone waited with baited breath. Who would be the next Fanfiction victim?
The hand was gripping a cream colored sheet of paper.. It slowly drifted towards Italy. He stood, backing up till He was against the wall, "NO!!" he cried.
Germany was up like a shot, standing in front of him protectively, "You can't have him," he growled at the floating appendage.
The fingers swatted him out of the way and he landed with a thump beside Poland. They exchanged mortified glances, and then, like magnets, rebounded to opposite sides of the room. They recently had a…interesting fanfiction together.
Italy clutched his white flag and hoped this fanfiction included pasta. He grabbed the paper sheepishly.
"NO! Not another mafia one" he cried, "if I have to shoot my brother, or be otherwise murdered in some violent, grotesque, slinky related way, I'll..."
But he disappeared with a "pop".
Romano was secretly crying in the back of the room. He always loved the Mafia fanfictions. Why wasn't he ever in them?
At this point France had already tried to rape England while he was in his…fragile state.
"AGH! GET AWAY, YOU BLOODY GIT!"
"But you liked it last night…"
"I WAS FORCED TO, WANKER! THAT WAS A KINK FANFICTION!"
England lunged for France, in a non-sexual way, that is, much to France's dismay.
America had to tear them apart for the fifth time that day.
Spain had noticed Romano's sobs at this point in time, and began to walk over to him.
"It'll be all right, Romano," Spain crooned, "Why don't you have a tomato?" he said as he rubbed a tomato to Romano's cheek.
"DON'T RUB ME WITH A TOMATO D-DAMNIT!"
England maneuvered himself out of America's iron grip, and bounded to the opposite corner of the room. He stumbled on Sealand, who was sitting on the floor drawing suicidal pictures with crayons. (He had the 64 pack, England noted with envy). "Nobody acknowledges me," Sealand muttered.
Germany was sitting on the leather couch on the opposite corner of the room. His legs were together and he sat straight up. He sat patiently waiting for Italy to come back from his torture.
Prussia sat next to him, much to Austria's dismay.
Austria eyed Germany enviously. HE would have Prussia one day…
"HEY WEST! I was just in a fanfiction! They must have chosen me for my fucking awesomeness!"
Germany's eyes rolled. He then noted Austria death staring at him and Prussia while curled in a fetal position.
Germany scratched the back of his neck, "errrm...yeah. Don't you wanna get up off this couch?"
"NAH. THIS COUCH IS FUCKING AWESOME LIKE THE AWESOME ME." he patted the leather beside him lovingly.
That moment, Poland managed to pry Russia away from Lithuania.
"Like God, Liet, why do you hang with Russia so much?"
"I-I-I don't want to…"
"It's like, so BORING with him! Don't you like, love me?"
"But I-"
Lithuania was interrupted by two certain Baltic nations.
"Lithuania! R-Russia said t-t-that he wants y-you. He doesn't l-l-like you near P-P-Poland…"
"LATVIAAA!"
"W-what was that for?"
"I don't know. I needed to do it. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to get back to my calculus."
Russia somehow appeared behind them in a creepy, stalker-like fashion. Belarus appeared behind Russia in an ever more stalker-like fashion. Allow me to draw the curtain over what happened there.
A popping sound was heard nearby, and all the room's occupants turned to welcome Italy back.
Mouths dropped. Eyes popped out of their sockets.
Italy was gripping a gun and a strange, blood soaked list of country names. America was listed fifteen times. Italy threw the items to the ground and bounded for Germany, crying the whole time.
"Doitsu! They made me shoot people! They almost made me kill you and America! Don't let me go back for the next chapter, PLEASE!
He then started crying big baseball-sized tears. Prussia walked over and put his arm around his shoulders.
"Italy, did you miss my awesomeness? I don't know why authors don't put me in the stories with you. Maybe they are afraid that my fucking awesomeness will overwhelm the story!"
"Britney Spears…no pasta….ENDLESS DISNEY SING-ALONGS!" Italy screamed between gasps, "WAAHHH I DON'T WANT TO SHOOT ANYONE!"
"Come on, Italy, let's go to your happy corner," Germany said reassuringly.
And so they did – relocating themselves to the far-left corner of the room to an abused green loveseat.
"Hey Italy," Germany started, "you wanna make this corner really happy?" he said suggestively.
But Italy – being Italy – replied as follows: "You brought pasta?!"
Germany frowned, "Noooooo. Something even better."
He appeared lost in thought, contemplating what he had said, then he gasped, "I know. You brought me Pizza." Hope lit up his face.
Germany cocked his head to the side. He knew this would happen.
"Just kiss me, you fool," Germany crooned.
They began a passionate make-out session. At once, everyone removed his or her outer layers of clothing. This would last for a while, and in a room with no ventilation, it would get hot quickly.
"Hey guys," Hong Kong told everyone, "You'll never guess who's in the next room."
He bore a small hole in the aluminum walls.
Italy put down his book. Greece woke up abruptly. Everyone looked at Hong Kong expectantly.
He was brimming with excitement on the inside, but his face was unchanged, "THE DEATH NOTE CAST!" he exclaimed in his best British accent. Why he did this in a British accent, nobody quite knew.
"BLOODY WANKER! YOU LIVED WITH ME! WHY CAN'T YOU DO A BETTER BRITISH ACCENT?!?" England screamed with rage.
"Death Note?" In a strange British chorus, everyone echoed his in question.
Hong Kong nodded.
A stampede ensued. Everyone rushed to get a peek at the hole.
"L? L! IS THAT YOU, L?!? MARRY ME, L! MARRY ME!!!" Hungary shouted above the hubbub...and, disturbingly, so did Austria.
Germany sighed, finally removing his lips from Italy's. "I smell a crossover," he said.