Hello fans of Hetalia and Spongebob or maybe one but not the other! Welcome! Welcome! I hope you enjoy my first fanfiction! XD I have to warn you though... the second and third chapters are... actually really lame... -_- But I'm editing them as we speak! So it's only going to get more crack-tastic from here! XDD
Synopsis: When Alfred's dreams get crushed after he doesn't become manager of a popular British restaurant, he seeks meditation through his best friend Feliciano, and a LOT of ice cream... Back at the restaurant, Francis is tired of Arthur overshadowing his restaurant and gets advice from a stranger on how to end it all. Stealing King Vash's rifle may have been a bit extreme, but it works; as Arthur becomes, well, "immobile", and Alfred and Italy are sent on a journey of heroic heroness for heroes... Or something like that. Prepare for stupidity, musical numbers, and lack of reading the atmosphere!
Warnings: Mild language, inappropriate humour, missing pants, crossdressing, drinking/alcohol, pickles (I CAN'T forget the pickles... ._.), integrated quotes from other movies/fanbases/TV shows, violence with guns, violence without guns, violence without pants, making fun of character cliches, long warning labels, randomness, exaggerations, and extreme OOC-ness... Uh... Also, this wasn't beta-read... So yeah. :3
BEFORE YOU READ - Hetalia Reef is underwater, but the characters themselves are human. Why? Because it would be difficult to place every hetalia character to a species of fish... But feel free to try it, I'd love to see what you come up with...
And so, our story begins in Hetalia Reef, a quiet place where not a lot happens...
-O-O-O-
A dream? Heroic dream!
An anxious crowd surrounded the Bloody Pirate.
Muttering in hushed, troubled tones, they looked to each other, wondering who would be brave enough to do something. A furrowed brow here, a frightened frown over there; each one watched the restaurant as if it were a time bomb ready to explode. Although, such a comparison did not prevent curious eyes from attempting to peer into the glass walls.
"Back up! Back up!" Police directed the individuals away. Whistles were blown and helicopters roared overhead. Elizaveta Héderváry, along with many other news anchors, was on the scene, speaking into a camera with a quivering voice. She seemed to be murmuring something about 'the biggest scandal of the century' and how 'if this event is not handled with delicacy and precision, the conclusion could be fatal not only to Hetalia Reef, but to the entire world.' The cameramen looked ready to flee at any given moment, which did not ease the tension surrounding the building. It was like Enchilada Thursday all over again.
The owner of the restaurant, Arthur Kirkland, was in front of multiple cameras and microphones, trying to settle the press and groups of customers. Arthur was a short, British male with blond hair; although, nobody really cared about those characteristics of his. His real defining trait was his humongous, colossal eyebrows. Like, seriously, these things were massive. We needed two synonyms for "big" to describe them; that's how big they were. It was like a gorilla puked on his face. It was like some caterpillars were just chillin' there thinking: "Man, will we ever turn into butterflies?" Gazelles could feed on his eyebrows. Yeah. It was ALL in the eyebrows. If you saw some floating eyebrows concealing a man underneath, yeah, that was Arthur.
In all seriousness though, those things were big.
Seriously.
"Please do not panic, we have everything under control..." Regardless of the eyebrow's words, Feliciano was bawling, rolling around on the ground with a ticked off Lovino swearing at him with colorful words. "Please wait until our wonderful, remarkable manager shows up to assess the situation. He'll know just what to do!"
"Look! There he is!"
That was when a black limousine with a burger painted on the side pulled up through the crowd and in front of the restaurant. Yes, it was I, the awesome hero-manager and part-time limousine driver, Alfred Jones! I courageously jumped out from the doors and the worried citizens cheered. Cameras shot rare pictures, women swooned at the sight of me, and children ran up with a pen and paper in hopes to obtain a valuable autograph.
"Did anyone call for a hero?"
The crowd responded with a hurrah, just as one policeman fainted while another called out 'I love you, Alfred Jones!'
"And I love you, random citizen!" I called back. The male policeman swooned. Arthur rushed over without a minute to spare.
"Thank goodness you're here, Alfred! We have a situation in there!"
To say the owner was thankful to see me-the uber-awesome, once-in-a-lifetime celebrity-was an understatement. Alfred F. Jones was not only a manager of the Bloody Pirate, but the-
"Get on with it! Don't waste half the chapter on crumby descriptions!"
"Just save the poor man!"
"We've been waiting for an hour!"
"I'm in the wrong fanfiction!"
It seemed like the crowd was getting in a frenzy, so I decided to go talk to his boss.
"Finally!"
"What seems to be the problem?" Slipping on black shades, I was as swagger as ever as I made my way towards the glass entranceway. A distressed Englishman followed close behind.
"W-Well, the day was going on normally-you know, people coming in and ordering. Everything was fine until..." The businessman trailed off.
Woah. This really was serious. Arthur didn't use the word 'bloody' or 'git' in that sentence... I mean, he has to use those words! He's British! You can't be British without bloody gits!
"Until...?"
Arthur seemed hesitant to continue, his voice shaking and on the edge of terror. "T-The order! The poor customer came over with his soda... He was white as a sheet, and it turned out...!"
"Hold on, Kirkland. It's perfectly okay to be scared..." I put a valiant, chivalrous hand on his shoulder. "Just go slow. Simple words. What happened?"
Practically in tears, Arthur wailed, "There was POPCORN CHICKEN IN IT!"
I paused, then took off my glasses. "Wait... In the soda?"
"No, wait that was another guy... We fixed that problem." Arthur hummed, then wailed again, "THIS guy took the drink and it was a side of fries! So we had to kill him..."
I blinked. "I hope that was another guy..."
"Oh. Right. That was what I watched that on TV last night." Finally, the man yelled again, "BUT THIS GUY! This guy ordered a medium drink, and I GAVE HIM A LARGE! I've soiled the good Bloody Pirate name!" Without being able to contain it, the Englishman burst out sobbing. "Soiled it! Soiled it!"
I slapped him.
"Get ahold of yourself, Kirkland."
Arthur looked up to me.
"I'm going in."
The restaurant was a tall building, in the shape of a pirate's ship. Thus the name 'Bloody Pirate' and had-
"Stop describing things!"
And it was actually a pretty funny story how it got that name, see-
"GUH!"
Oh. Right. Hero time.
Kicking open the doors, I dauntlessly examined the scene inside. The familiar building was dark and empty, save for one trembling customer sitting upright in his seat. Only two items were placed upon his table: a normal burger, and a seemingly innocent soda.
Nantucket (Yes. I named my hair. Shut up. You can do it too if you wanted to.) bounced flawlessly as I made my way cooly over. "Don't worry, friend. I'm the hero of this establishment. Just do what I tell you, how I tell you, and everything will be just fine."
"R-Right." The man hid his face in a purple scarf, nervous eyes glancing from his infected meal to his soon-to-be savior. He watched as I boldly brought out a silvery briefcase and positioned it on the table.
"You got a name?"
"B-Braginski. Ivan Braginski." The case opened with such ease, only projecting a small squeak from polished hinges. Ivan watched in panic.
"Mind if I call you Ivan?" Effortlessly, I pulled out my trusty sidekick: Rubber gloves. The man cringed.
"N-No... G-Go ahead."
"You got a family, Ivan?"
The Russian whimpered and looked to his meal in fright, hiding his nose deeper into the warmth of the violet fabric. I snapped my fingers, catching the customer's attention once again.
"Ivan, was it? Look here. I've got everything under control." The tall male shivered, but obeyed. "Just tell me about that family. Wife? Kids?"
"N-No. Just two beautiful sisters..." He looked down, holding back the urge to cry in front of such a figure. "I-I only want to go see them..."
"Don't worry, Ivan. I've got this all under control." I analyzed the contents of my briefcase. Multiple tools with unknown purposes were sorted neatly inside (so THAT'S where my beret went...), but I had my eye on one in particular... "I just want you to do one thing for me..."
"Y-Yes?"
"Hold this, and come calmly with me."
I had to force Ivan's hands onto the table in order to wedge a cardboard cup into them. The customer whined quietly as I helped him from his seat and escorted him silently and smoothly to the soda machine. When the Russian was positioned in front of it, he peeked over at me for guidance.
"Now... This process is simpler than it looks. You see those soda names?" Ivan hesitantly nodded. "Just tell me which one you had and we'll be out of here in a flash."
The male stood noiselessly for a second, then replied with a whisper; "Third from the left."
Just as he said, there it was.
The typical Coca Cola.
"Now, place your hand under that faucet there. Don't worry. I got your back."
The Russian looked hesitant, but placed the cup exactly where it was supposed to go. The chestnut-colored drink came pouring out. He gasped and almost pulled his hand away until I stopped him.
"You can do this. Just a bit more."
Only a third full, and the male tried to jerk his hand away. My beloved hero self held it firmly in place though. "A bit more..."
"R-Really, I'm fine with this, yes? W-We can all go home and-"
"You paid for the medium drink and we're getting you the medium drink!" I had my eyes trained to the contents of the cup. Only half full. "Wait a bit longer..."
Ivan's hand started to shake.
"A bit more..."
Ivan wailed in fright.
"Ivan, just hold on. Just a bit more...!"
From outside, Arthur shifted his weight from one foot to the other, watching as the other patrons attempted to catch a glimpse of what was going on inside. Suddenly, the door burst open. Everybody turned to see their hero, Alfred F. Jones (that's me!), holding an innocent citizen safely in his arms.
"Order for table 8?"
The crowd was in uproar with joy. A mob dashed up to my American self with gleeful exuberance, asking questions and pressing microphones and cramming cameras to my face. Ivan jumped out of his arms happily and rushed over to embrace his sisters, blushing happily as he held up the drink to surrounding oohs and aahs.
"How did you do it?" one shady reporter asked suspiciously.
"Alfred..."
A bouncy, blond woman shoved a mic into my face. "Will you continue to do other things like this in the future?"
"Alfred...!"
"And another day is saved thanks to the heroic efforts of our hometown hero: Alfred F. Jones!" Elizaveta exclaimed happily to the lens, projecting me-the fearless, talented manager-on every TV screen in Hetalia Reef, and maybe the entire world!
"Come ON, Alfred...!"
i laughed at the awestruck crowd. "It's just what I do! Hey, did you hear something?"
"I'm not being THAT quiet...! Am I?"
I dismissed the noise as a pair of eyebrows ran over with a giant check for McDonalds, just for me. It was probably just the wind anyways! I laughed, like a boss.
"Well, I tried every- No no no! Kumacon! Wait! Sto-!"
Alfred's face met with a fuzzy stomach.
In surprise, and lack of air, the American flailed and rolled right onto a hardwood floor, taking his Superman bedsheets with him. His forehead was the first thing that landed, and he groaned loudly in pain as he rolled onto his back.
"What's going on? Is there a fire?!" The blond hastily rubbed his eyes and searched blindly for his bedside table, which he ended up smashing his head into. "Holy shizz, DID SOMEONE BREAK IN AND STEAL THE XBOX?!"
"Um... What? No... No real emergency, just... Sorry... I didn't know Kumajiraroo would do THAT..."
Once Alfred finally caught hold of his glasses, his eyes met with the worried violet ones of his brother. His surroundings were not of the Bloody Pirate which he had once been, but of his familiar, American-style room. White-washed walls which were wearing a coat of posters of Superheroes and Cartoons. Electronics were messily crowded into the shelves under the TV, with their cords and wires were swirling around the floor like snakes. The wrappers of yesterday's McDonalds piled themselves into a lonely corner, and seemed to look perfectly fine despite his brother's nagging that they would attract insects or mould. There sat Tony on a pile of used clothes, playing a video game which he seemed to be losing at, according to the language he was using. It was the perfect hero room.
After hearing that everything was okay, the blond pouted. "Why'd you wake me up then, Mattie? I was having a kick-ass dream! And it was in the first-person point of view! You KNOW something's awesome when it's in the first-person!"
After muttering something Alfred couldn't hear, the timid brother, Matthew Williams, explained: "You're late for work, you know. I... Uh... I thought I should wake you up."
Alfred turned to the clock. "I'm only ten minutes late, dude! I could have got away with five more minutes!"
Laughing heartily, the American didn't realize the bear he had been sitting on squeezing out from under his coat and flopping onto the wooden ground. The pet groggily stood up, shook it off, and lazily trudged back to his owner's arms. Matthew scooped the blob of fur up, bluntly ignoring the customary "Who are you?"
Already used to this daily routine, the Canadian sighed. "I think you keep forgetting that ARTHUR is your boss. You know, Kirkland? The guy who barely lets you have a lunch break? THAT guy?"
The American waved his hand dismissively, "Don't sweat it, bro! That guy's all talk! And besides, I'm the hero!" Said hero jumped up and threw his fists up triumphantly. "Nobody gets angry at the hero!"
"Whatever you say..." Matthew sighed, departing the bedroom. However, Alfred didn't seem to catch him mumble, "Just don't come crying to me when he yells at you..."
After the door shut, Alfred deeply breathed in the musky smell of his room. It was time for a new day! This hero prided himself on his speedy preparation! Although getting his head stuck in the arm of his sweater wasn't exactly part of the plan... Nor was tripping down the stairs... However, without those minor setbacks, Alfred would have reached a record time of 46 seconds! He bounced happily into the kitchen, where Tony and Kuma... What was his actual name again? Anyways, the two were enjoying a joyous breakfast conversation of swear words and repetitive questions...
Wait! Why was Kuma-dude wearing my beret?!
No time!
Matthew was at the stove, cooking in his own invisible way... The kitchen was white; white walls, white tiles, and even white cupboards. Surprisingly, the table was a deep beige colour, but that didn't stop Alfred from complaining to his brother that they should spice up the place. However, the Canadian didn't seem to be too fond of the neon green sign that would scream KITCHEN, or the way the way the lamp would transform into a disco ball. Whatever. He was no fun anyways.
"You're ready already? Wow... Hey, do you need a lunch?" The blond seemed to be frying up pancakes. Again.
"Uh... No thanks dude! I'll have something there." Choosing between burgers and pancakes for Alfred F. Jones, hero and soon to be manager of the Bloody Pirate, was an easy choice. "I'm the cook! I'm allowed to have whatever I want there!"
"Sure..."
"Oh! And don't forget that I'm becoming manager today! Set your clocks! 11:30 sharp!"
"Of course..."
"Oh! Oh! Can we have McDonalds tonight?"
To this, Matthew spun around. "Wh-What? Why?"
"Because I REAAAALY like McDonalds..." Alfred looked up with the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster. "Pleeeeeease? I'll be your best friend!"
"We just had that yesterday!" the other groaned, rubbing his temples. He just didn't understand the awesomeness that is McDonalds every day. He didn't seem to understand a lot of awesome things. How were they related again? "Ugh, fine. But only because of your promotion, okay?"
Alfred's spirits soared. This was it! The manager of the Bloody Pirate... His dream would become a reality... Well, maybe he didn't want his DREAM to become a reality... He wasn't particularly fond of the idea of Arthur bursting into tears. That was just creepy. What did he eat before bed again? Oh right! McDonalds! Ahaha!
Speaking of fast food...
"I love you, man!" The American embraced his brother in a bear hug, knocking the two of them off balance and toppling to the ground.
The Canadian couldn't help but smile. "Whatever you say, Alfred..."
With a heroic laugh, the American brushed himself off and skipped out of the house. Singing some upbeat song he heard on a cartoon, but changing the lyrics to make it more...his style.
"I'm ready, to BE A HERO! I'm ready, to BE A HERO!"
Back in the kitchen, Matthew sighed in exasperation. He didn't even get to share his dream... Not that being eaten by a giant poundcake was very interesting; but hey, that's the price you pay for being Canadian. You dream about man-eating pastry every once in a while. It happens.
But then again, sharing his dream would probably make him later than he already was...
The Canadian almost couldn't find it in himself to peek over at the clock, which was suspended innocently on the beige wall.
Shoot. Not again...
Not that he didn't love his brother, oh no. He cared about Alfred more than anyone in the world. He was his own flesh and blood! However, there are just some times when...
He shook his head. Then there was that whole promotion ideal...
Tossing his coat over his shoulders and pacing to the door, the blond wondered how his brother would act in the ceremony when they chose a new manager. Both good and bad outcomes arose in his mind.
No matter what happens, the McDonalds will cheer him up, right?
With that shred of confidence, Matthew turned the knob and felt the refreshing Hetalian breeze hit his skin. "Be good you guys..." he called to the two left in the house, although neither probably heard him... Wait, why was Kumamuma wearing a beret? No time!
He ran out the door and trudged along the sidewalk.
Thank Maple HIS boss wasn't Arthur Kirkland...
-O-O-O-
So... Who liked Alfred's dream?
YAY FOR OOC CRACK!
Can anybody imagine Arthur bursting out into tears WITHOUT the influence of alcohol over a soda? What about Russia shivering in fear in one of those Krusty Krab chairs? And who REALLY believes that Alfred could act all cool and collected within that sort of situation? No. He'd be laughing at Arthur's face, whom would then start yelling at him. Then out comes Russia... God knows what he did with the poor medium-sized drink... *shivers*
And the Xbox wasn't stolen, much to the relief of certain video gamers...
Does anybody look forward to the disclaimers just to see what people write? I do...
DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Hetalia, sadly, or Spongebob, thankfully, or McDonalds, which doesn't matter, because I'm vegetarian anyways! :D I don't own anything American, including their dream sequences or their alien friends. I don't own the first-person POV. I don't own any restaurants, or the name Bloody Pirate... though don't ask me who DOES own that name, because I really don't know. Although, I will gladly place dibs on it if it doesn't exist! :D (I don't own Enchilada Thursdays either... That would be my brother... He came up with the idea and I stole it... ._.)