First Hetalia fic! I have had so so many plot bunnies bouncing around my head. No wonder I drink coffee now. I really should be working on my Avengers fic right now, seeing as I haven't updated since I discovered Hetalia. Which was about two months ago. Yeah. But I really needed to get this fic written. My muse is highly unstable as well as a fandom-jumping hitchhiking biker with multiple-personality disorder. Yup. See what I have to deal with?
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not Hetalia, not One Direction, and definitely not any plots of any Indian movies you might recognize.
France and England walk out of the World Meeting.
"At least his house isn't pink anymore?" England offers, about the horrific experience they have just had.
"Oui, except now his house is covered in posters of that horrible boy band, which, if I remember correctly, is British."
"Oi! Don't blame me for that."
"Who am I supposed to blame, then?"
"...Korea?"
France raises his eyebrows. England huffs.
"I was hoping they would turn out like the Beatles, alright? Are you bloody happy now, frog? Why am I walking with you anyway?"
England storms off in a random direction.
France smirks.
"I'm your ride home, Angleterre. Unless you would prefer to walk from Poland back to England?"
England stops, mid-storm.
"Damn it."
Two minutes later
"Lovely weather, isn't it?"
"I hate the sun."
France gasps.
"How could you hate the sun, Angleterre? No wonder you have vitamin D deficiency!"
England looks traumatized.
"How the bloody hell do you know that, frog? Are you stalking me?"
It is France's turn to look traumatized.
"As if I would stalk you when there are so many other people I could stalk."
"So you admit that you stalk people?"
"Everyone knows that, mon cher."
"You still haven't told me how you know."
"You should be more careful who you get drunk around."
"Oh."
Two more minutes later
"Angleterre, I'm quite sure that you are the only person that can trip on a rock and fall backwards." France dissolves into laughter as England scowls, rubbing the back of his neck.
"How did we get here anyway?"
France looks at England suspiciously.
"Angleterre? Are you all right?"
England peers at France through eyes narrowed in concentration.
"We were at the meeting...then we walked out...you talked about stalking me...oh! I tripped on that stupid rock!" England smiles sunnily at France.
"I'll be alright. I must have hit my medula oblongata. I'll have temporary memory loss for a while. It's nothing to worry about."
"Okay then."
Ten exceedingly weird minutes later
"How did we get here anyway?"
France feels like tearing his hair out.
He already has. Twice.
France is not going to think about that.
"We were at the meeting...then we walked out...you talked about stalking me...oh! I tripped on that stupid rock!"
"ANGLETERRE! Mon dieu, what is wrong with you?"
England shakes his head and glares at France.
"What's wrong with you?"
France breathes out in relief and glomps England.
"Get off me, frog! I don't want French germs all over me."
"Angleterre! You're all right! I thought you had finally gone insane from all that tea that you drink!"
"You. Bloody. Git." England accentuates each word with a very painful punch to the stomach.
France doubles over, wheezing.
England looks pleased.
Two pleasant (for England, anyway) minutes later
"How far away is the bloody plane, anyway?"
France looks at England, confused.
"I thought you knew."
"You're the one taking us to the plane!"
"No, you are."
"Oh, bloody hell."
Thirty panic-filled seconds later
"I think we're lost."
"Oh, very good, Angleterre, you've finally figured that out! What was your clue? Was it me screaming it at you for the past thirty seconds, or that the only thing we can see is grass?!"
"Screaming at me is not going help our situation."
"I think it's helping my situation quite a lot."
"Dammit, France, stop being such a child!"
"This coming from the man who claims he can see fairies."
"Do you really have nothing else to insult me about?"
"Oh, I have beaucoup choses to insult you about, Angleterre. Your eyebrows, your tea, your punk phase, and, bien entendu, that one incident involving tea, rabbits, and...what was her name? Taylor...Taylor Swift, I think?"
England growls.
"You jerk. You bloody buggering - you promised." An evil look crosses England's face, and France shivers involuntarily. "Do you remember why you promised?"
France racks his brain but cannot come up with an answer, until England utters one word.
"Fourteen."
France screams and attacks England.
"Vous n'aurez plus jamais parler de cela! Me comprenez-vous? Jamais! JAMAIS! Non, même si la Russie vous enlève et vous torture pour obtenir des informations sur cet incident allez-vous jamais parler de lui! Jamais! Tout cas, vous avez promis aussi! Et vous avez le culot de me crier dessus! You bloody git !"
England, who had previously been screaming at France for speaking in French, and also a variety of other things which included but was not limited to the Boston Tea Party, the sun, and the invention of the color blue, froze.
"What did you just say?"
France stumbles over his words.
"Ah, well, vous voyez, Angleterre, I, um, j'ai dit que, um–"
A devilish grin creeps onto England's face.
"My word, frog. It seems that you've been...corrupted."
Three minutes later
"Did you just hit my neck?"
"...Non?"
"Why did you hit my neck?"
"No reason."
"Why did you hit my neck, frog?"
"I told you already. No reason."
England raises an eyebrow.
"Okay."
France sighs in relief.
"But don't think I'm letting you forget what you said. Or that I'm not going to tell Poland."
Two rather calm minutes later
"We're still lost, aren't we?"
"Non, Angleterre. You're just dreaming."
"Oh! Now it all makes sense. This happens all the time in my dreams."
"You dream about being alone with me in the middle of Poland?"
"I dream about being stuck with you in the middle of the Twilight Zone."
"Ah. I don't see, but I will pretend to see."
England has a blissful look on his face.
France looks very, very scared.
"Angleterre?" he says, quietly.
"Frog?" England says, just as softly.
France screams.
"Oh! You've finally had a good idea, frog! Let's try screaming at each other and hope someone hears us."
Five hours later
"I can't talk." England rasps.
"Oui, moi aussi. We may have overdid it a little."
"Well, you did insult my eyebrows, my country, and my tea in one sentence."
"And you said that my food tasted like America's hamburgers."
Both nations fall into a fit of coughing.
"I think we should stop talking now."
Twelve hours later
"France? England? What are you two still doing here?"
"France? England? Are you two, like, sleeping?"
Poland pauses, waiting for a reply.
"Oh my gosh, you totally are! You look so cute!" England jerks awake at Poland's squealing. He flails for a moment, completely confused, and accidentally whacks France in the face, effectively waking the other nation as well.
"POLAND!" England screams and latches on to the nation's legs. France is still in the process of waking up. "FRANCE, WAKE THE BLOODY HELL UP!"
"Quoi?" he says, blinks.
"Poland?! How did you find us?"
"Did you guys, like, not want me to find you?" Poland suddenly looks enlightened. "Oh. Oh. I get it now. I'll, like, leave you guys alone now." Poland turns around with a slightly disturbed look on his face and starts to walk away.
England wonders for a second how Poland forgot that there was someone attached to his legs.
"POLAND!"
"England? You're like, attached to my legs. Could you like, let go?"
"TAKE ME WITH YOU!"
"Wait, what?"
"I'VE BEEN STUCK OUT HERE WITH THE FROG SINCE WE LEFT THE BLOODY MEETING! SAVE ME, POLAND!"
"Oh, so you're just going to abandon the man who spent eighteen hours out in the Polish wilderness with you just to go back to your cats and tea?"
England doesn't even hesitate.
"Hell yeah."
"You've been spending too much time around America, mon cher. You're starting to sound like him."
"WHAT?!"
"I think we should leave before Angleterre spontaneously combusts." England is yelling about how America will never be as sophisticated as him and how France should remember who exactly makes his suits.
Poland ignores this.
"I totally agree." he says, and as he turns to look at France properly, Poland sees such a frightening sight that he promptly screams.
"France, dude, what, like, happened to your hair?! It's like, totally...messed up." Poland whispers the last two words.
"I'm blocking it out of my memory." France starts muttering to himself. "Mon bébé va bien. Mon bébé va bien. Il n'ya rien de mal avec mes cheveux. C'est très bien."
Poland shakes his head.
"And people say I'm girly."
Two hours later – at London
"Just because Poland sent Lithuania off in our plane doesn't mean that he had to accompany us all the way back to London, right?"
"Je desole, Angleterre, but I can't hear you."
"Yeah." England rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry about that. He was talking to me about hair. Have you seen my hair? I was completely lost."
"So you decided to go up to the pilot's cabin? And leave me alone? With Poland?"
"Umm...yes? Well, you've done it to me before! Remember? Last November?"
"...Oui. But I remember making it up to you by buying you drinks."
"Fine. Wanna get some tea?"
"How about something a little stronger?"
England smiles.
"I'm not arguing."
"Le gasp! What a surprise!"
"Shut up, frog."
...
"They think they're so subtle." Poland says to whoever is on the phone, thinking that he is being rather sneaky.
...
"We can hear you, you know."
"Oh."
The two rather menacing nations are suddenly stopped from advancing by a well-timed frying pan to the head.
"How'd you get here so fast?"
Japan just smiles.
Translations:
beaucoup choses – many things
bien entendu – of course
Vous n'aurez plus jamais parler de cela! Me comprenez-vous? Jamais! JAMAIS! Non, même si la Russie vous enlève et vous torture pour obtenir des informations sur cet incident allez-vous jamais parler de lui!Jamais!Tout cas, vous avez promis aussi! Et vous avez le culot de me crier dessus! – You will never speak of that. Do you understand me? Never! NEVER! Not even if Russia kidnaps you and tortures you for information about that incident will you speak of it. Never. Anyway, you promised too! And you have the nerve to yellat me!
vous voyez – you see
j'ai dit – I said
Mon bébé va bien. Mon bébé va bien. Il n'ya rien de mal avec mes cheveux. C'est très bien. – My baby is okay. My baby is all right. There's nothing wrong with my hair. It's perfectly fine.
(I don't speak French. Any French I do know was gained by spending time on Google Translate. So the French may be completely wrong and say something like "Murple is a color." and I would have no idea. Just saying.)
Why hasn't Poland gone back home yet? His pilot always demands at least two hours of break time to get so hyped up on caffeine that he doesn't notice the incessant chattering.
I wrote this fic almost all in one sitting. I'm not sure how much sense it makes, or even if it makes any sense at all.
And the middle bit with the middle oblongata and England's memory loss comes from an Indian movie. If you search NKPK online, you should be able to find a summary.
I think that covers it all. Review! Reviews are better than coffee! Coffee is awesome. Reviews are better.