This is my first fanfiction. Never written one before-who would have known that, out of all my obsessions, it would be Hetalia that finally made me write…
Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read this, and I hope you like it!
Enough babbling…onto the story!
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. It belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.
There is the occasional swear word in this. And violence towards the end.
-o-
13th December 2013-World Meeting
England sighed, cramming his starched white shirt into a large and battered suitcase. His bed groaned underneath the combined weight of all his clothes-casual and smart, his laptop, several important files and- wait, was that America?
He stopped. He was sure he had seen the telltale blonde mop-although that could have been a range of other countries, Finland, Sweden, Poland-even Canada, but why would anyone want to watch him? He wandered to the window, stretching his back in the process, which emitted several loud clicks. England winced, continuing his journey, looking outside, and expecting America's large blue eyes to greet him. He was surprised. America never hid himself well enough to be completely out of sight of England. He was just too obvious.
Rolling his eyes and sighing again, England walked back to the bed, greeting his suitcase and struggling to close it. He sat on it, squashing the contents down just enough so that the zip would close around it. Lifting it up was an even more difficult task that trying to pack it properly. A fleeting wish that America had been there (just to help him pick it up) crossed his mind. He dispelled the thought quickly upon the discovery of four wheels on the bottom of the blasted thing.
Why hadn't he realised they were there before?
He cursed. In all the years of his owning it, he had never thought to check for wheels. He could have definitely saved time with it, but now he had found them, and at least they would make the job a little easier.
He rolled the suitcase across the carpeted floor, making for his car out in the drive, hauled the damn thing into the boot, tried to close the door, and got hit by it, smacking him upside the face. England lay on the ground, cursing. Why didn't anything ever seem to want to cooperate?
He picked himself up, rubbing his sore jaw, tears pricking his eyes a little. He attempted again, this time actually being successful and crowing in delight at the inanimate object.
When he had finished his crowing, he walked to the driver's side of the car, sat on the seat, swung his legs in and put the key in the ignition.
"Bugger."
The car wouldn't start. He climbed out, kicked the tyre violently, and heard an ominous cracking from his foot. He kneeled down on the floor in complete agony and frustration, crying.
Why did his life hate him?
He still wasn't aware of a rather tall blonde figure, watching his struggles from a distance.
Picking himself up, he tried again, only with the engine starting this time. Cursing a little more, he drove out of his garden.
-o-
Arriving after four hours of hell on the motorway at Heathrow, he parked his car in a marked bay, locked it and walked off; unaware that another vehicle had been following closely behind him.
The mysterious man climbed out of the car, following England towards and through the airport, pulling up his collar so as not to be seen in detail by anyone else. He boarded the same flight as the small, tousle-haired man and sat 2 or 3 rows behind him, keeping him within his sight and scribbling something on a small notepad, looking up occasionally to observe and take more notes.
England was still blissfully oblivious of the tall man that had been following him for the last few hours. He was currently typing out a long speech, occasionally glancing at the documents he had packed earlier and vaguely thinking that he should have gotten this done a lot earlier and there was no chance he was going to get this finished for the world meeting. Plus, he was meeting America and Canada tonight to go to the pub (England had instructed Canada not to let him have more than 2 beers, America was bound to forget or something) so there was no chance that he could work into the night.
They can wait, he thought, snapping the laptop closed. Maybe he could make it up as he went along on his speech.
An airhostess walked up the aisles, offering each passenger peanuts and snacks. England looked out the window, occupying himself a little. If he was bored enough to look at clouds, why wasn't he working on his speech?
"Anything to eat, sir?"
"No thank you." He shook his head a little and smiled as she walked to the passengers seated behind him. He craned around in his seat, watching her serve other passengers. He never noticed a man in a dark trench coat quickly lean towards the window, behind another chair so the man he was following would not see him.
England turned around and looked out at the darkening sky and slowly fell asleep.
-o-
7 hours later, he had unpacked and was waiting outside the pub for What's-his-name and America. His watcher was waiting nearby, surveying, listening.
Two other men came along, greeting England and walking into the pub, taking a table and ordering food and beer. England, as he had promised himself earlier-reminded Canada not to let him have more than 2 pints.
"So, England, America, how have you been?"
The question was barely acknowledged by the two other countries, so Canada repeated himself, a little louder.
"How have you been?"
"Oh," England jumped, "Er, fine. Sorry," He hastily replied, "How have you been? Had any trouble recently?"
"Eh…good, thank you. And no, nothing much-"
"I'm good," bellowed America over Canada, "you know what? Why doesn't this place sell burgers, I'm star-"
"I ASKED CANADA."
"Oh."
"Honestly, I didn't bring you up to be like this. You should be ashamed."
Canada hung his head. He knew he wasn't going to get a word in edgeways, whoever was speaking, so he stood up, still unnoticed by the other two and walked to get some peanuts from the bar.
"A pack of peanuts, please?"
Still no-one listening. The bartender continued his chat with a pretty woman a couple of metres away.
Canada was sick of this crap.
"Listen to me, Damnit!"
The bartender turned his head.
"No need to be rude, son, I'm coming. What do you want?"
"A pack of peanuts, please."
"Alright."
A bright red bag came soaring his way, which was caught quickly and clumsily by the blonde. He put a few coins on the counter and made his way back to the table America and England were sat at.
"I'm going outside for some fresh air."
No reply. Just more arguing.
No surprise there then.
He slouched outside, selecting the cleanest table he could see in the darkness and yanked open the bag, selecting a couple of nuts and putting them in his mouth. It seemed terribly quiet.
Now was their chance.
3 men soared almost out of nowhere; grabbing Canada from behind and flooring him in one go. He tried to scream desperately, but one of the mysterious men gagged him with a cloth, silencing him.
His arms were yanked behind his back and tied together with strong rope, left to lie on his back, his elbows bending at a strange angle and hands furiously scrabbling at the binding.
The struggle was over quickly. All Canada saw was a rather large, shiny, metal rod come soaring down to meet his head, before the world span away from him in a haze of extreme fright and pain.
-o-
So? How was it? Should I continue at all? Please review…Please *puppy eyes*
Dear Lord, those last two paragraphs, fffffff- And, I did start with England for a reason.
Anyway…review!