Disclaimer: If Axis Powers Hetalia were mine, I wouldn't need to write fanfics. If any of these songs were mine, I wouldn't be writing fanfics.
Background music: Track 2 – 21st Century Breakdown – Green Day
Minimal fluff 09!
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Two – 21st Century Breakdown
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I think I'm losing what's left of my mind to the twentieth century deadline…
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Another war. Another blasted war with deaths abound and national tensions on the side. It seemed all they were capable of was war after war after war.
But what else could they do? They were nations, separate entities ready to defend their borders at a drop of a hat. Fighting and grudges were about all they could do to prevent going completely mad.
Sometimes, England thought, he was getting much too old for childish games like this. Back in the day, war used to be fun; there was exhilaration that came from the struggle and well-deserved victory. No one thought a little island nation could exert that much power, and he used to conquer nation after nation.
But then he got older and time got crueler. For once, war broke his heart. He'd lost the only colony he had truly loved and everything had fallen downhill from there. He barely kept half of what he used to own, what with independence being such a popular new fad that all the little budding nations loved to indulge in.
The Great War had been a mistake to begin with, a stupid little dispute that dragged up the whole Europe into its mess. Afterwards, England had promised himself to abstain from such insignificant battles. His boss had agreed; had even tried to convince Germany to quit while he was ahead.
But now it seemed that they were heading toward another inevitable war again.
"I can't stand this anymore," England murmured to himself, locking himself in his office and curling up on the chair. He didn't want to fight anymore; he'd barely had time to catch his breath before Germany started making a ruckus and Russia reared his ugly head. Stupid Paris Peace Treaty, stupid arrogance pushing Germany to the edge, stupid Russia for refusing to take a stand against this new national threat. "I'm old," he continued to himself, hugging his knees to himself. "I can't take another war."
There was a knock on the door and England ignored it, drowning in his pity party. He needed more time to sulk alone. Didn't anyone have manners anymore, ring beforehand and all that jazz? But whoever it was seemed to have hands of keys and unlocked the door, and before England could protest, France waltzed in.
Waltzed would imply good mood. Edit: France shuffled in. England pulled himself out of such a vulnerable position and prepared himself for another dose of bad news. France, although the two had never quite gotten along, was his messenger from the main land and everything he said lately had never been good.
"Poland's in trouble," the ordinarily cheery nation said, looking frayed. "But we've known that for a while."
"What's the story?" England wondered how he could ever have taken such news with such grace. When America had told him he was taking no more, he had been devastated. But with age came maturity; no more would he grow angry and make irrational decisions. France collapsed in a seat across England.
"Germany, of course. It's like a vulture, darling. Anyone can see it; he's flying lower and lower and Poland's getting antsy. More than usual, I mean. It's always 'ohmigawd this' and 'ohmigawd that'. His paranoia is catching.
"And worse off, Germany's finding himself another nation on his team. It seems he's set his sights on our dear friend Italy."
"Well, Italy was never an important asset to begin with," England said dismissively. "We would never have counted on him for a good fight."
"True, I agree completely, but Italy hasn't been sitting by prettily either. There's aggression there, I can feel it. I don't like what's happening, England. This isn't good, and it's only going to get worse."
"It should have worked," England said quietly, almost to himself. "We've given him what he wants; shouldn't that be enough?" If he had just been lenient, sucked in his pride and offered America a few liberties of his own, maybe…maybe…
"It doesn't work that way nowadays, I'm afraid," France said sadly, shaking his head. "Mistakes have been made and giving in isn't always the best route."
Even a gigantic dose of that human-made confection, aspirin, would not be able to calm his migraine. "What should we do now?" France asked.
He was selfish; yes, always thinking about himself and his happiness… "Keep it in this general area," England replied, looking tired. "Please don't get too many other nations involved." He didn't need America coming again; watching America fight reminded him horribly of times past and there was always a gut-wrenching feeling he could never squash, even now. France could read him perfectly, cocking his head slightly.
"America will always poke his head into things that don't concern him, that little boy."
"Yes, but we don't need him dragging his inexperience all over the battlefield. This is an argument among the elders; we don't need his interruption."
France watched his friend and greatest rival with skepticism. "He will always help you, if not any of us. You weren't the only one affected by that schism only years ago."
America…
"That's it," England said briskly, cleaning up the stragglers from the finished pity party. "No use talking about what happened in the past. What we need to do is concentrate on stopping Germany before he gets too big for his boots. He needs a refitting and the faster we hop to it, the faster this whole thing can be over with."
France smiled thinly. "I don't always agree with you, England, but I too have had enough of this fighting."
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Anyone, anyone, Italy realized, would not leave a box sitting in the middle of their path alone. Before he could think of a rational way out, the person outside was already rattling the crate lid.
"Eek!" Italy covered his mouth, but it was too late. The shaking stopped for a moment, before the rattling started. He was being tossed about in a tiny box!
"Who is it?" the person called, in a gruff, unfriendly voice.
"It's…it's…" He didn't want to be dragged into this! He caught a whiff of gunpowder on the man outside and thought quickly – though not necessarily thoroughly. "I'm a tomato box fairy!" Italy cried, wracking his brain frantically. "Don't open me!"
"Is that so." The pulling at the crate lid didn't stop.
"Stop!" Italy shouted, trying to keep the lid on. "You…you don't want to see my insides, do you? It's gross! Leave poor little me alone! I'm only a tomato box fairy!!"
And in one swift motion, the cover was torn off and Italy covered his head, ready for whatever act of violence may come. He felt no barrel of a gun pressed to his head nor the blade of a knife pushed into his back and Italy almost squeaked when someone reached down and pulled him up by the collar as if he were a puppy.
"Who are you?" Italy looked up into a pair of icy blue eyes. He felt slightly nauseous, a feeling he felt rarely and was momentarily speechless.
Holy Roman Empire.
No, it wasn't. It couldn't be. Holy Roman Empire was dead, dead as a doornail, and everyone knew that. It wasn't Holy Roman Empire but it was, but it wasn't. It wasn't Holy Roman Empire with that serious look. It wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't! Italy burst into frantic tears.
"Don't hurt me!" he wailed, sure of this ghostly apparition. This reincarnation of Holy Roman Empire was wielding a stick and there was a shotgun strapped to his back. "Please! I'll do anything! I've got family where you live! Just please don't hurt me!" He wasn't making any sense, but neither was the situation.
Holy Roman Empire was dead.
Wasn't he?
The stern blonde Holy Roman Empire look-a-like seemed rather put out. "I was here to find Rome's ancestors…but surely you're not one?" There seemed more confusion than the inclination to violence. Italy leapt on the familiar reference.
"Grandpa Rome? You knew him? Yes! He was my grandpa!" Who was this? Who…who knew about his beloved grandpa who wanted to conquer the whole of Europe? Italy felt his knees give out beneath him; Holy Roman Empire was the one who wanted the same exact thing.
"So you're Italy." There was a hint of disappointment, a note that rang bitterly in Italy's ears. It wasn't Holy Roman Empire; no, that boy would never say anything in that voice like that. It was someone completely different. Germany. Yes, the name was coming back to him. This was Germany, his former ally that he never got to know during the Great War before Romano told him to switch sides. An old friend.
He didn't complain or resist when he was led away to Germany's house, forgetting completely about the tomato crate that still lay somewhere in the forest, waiting for him to find it. At this point, he had started his involvement with this now infamous nation. Trouble by association; yes, now, surely he would be pulled into this new war.
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There were orders; yes, there were always orders. Italy, despite this babbling about some new friend he made, was summoned with him to the boss's chambers. Il Duce looked each twin in the eye seriously, looking in complete control.
"I have two missions for the both of you," he started. "The first mission is to invade Ethiopia. The second is to step into Spain's civil war. Which of you will take which mission?"
There was a moment of stunned silence. Italy opened his mouth to speak when Romano suddenly cut in. "I'll go to Spain," the elder twin said breathlessly, too distracted to notice the surprised look his younger brother gave him. Il Duce nodded satisfactorily.
"Then you will march on to Ethiopia, Feliciano. Good. I was afraid you two would argue about which one or refuse to do either, but I guess I worried for nothing. I hope you two will do me proud."
"Romano," Feliciano murmured as they passed each other in the hallway. "I'm glad you're going to see Spain-nii. I would have let you go anyway."
Romano frowned indignantly. "I'm not going to see him for him. Someone's got to check in once in a while on the smiley bastard."
"Of course," Feliciano giggled.
The civil war was breathing its last anyway. Romano rushed past the men he brought along as he entered Spain's house, haunted slightly by the absence of change in the four walls. For once, he felt small again, and if the shouts outside could be dimmed, he could pretend he was still young and finding his way in this stupid, big house. But each step reminded him he was Italy, he was a full-grown nation now. No more would he get lost; he knew where Spain was and he would find him.
Romano burst into the study and found Spain just where he expected; sitting dazed in his former boss's seat, as if he had been hypnotized. The curly dark-haired nation's green eyes were glossy as he stared ahead, uncomprehending.
"Oh, Spain," Romano whispered, closing the door behind him and crossing the room. "Spain, Spain, Spain…" Spain didn't reply or give indication that he had heard, still continuing his gaze in the front. Romano hesitated momentarily before climbing into Spain's lap and forcing the unresponsive nation to look at him.
"Boss, it's me. It's Romano, dammit." The eyes were still glossy and Romano kissed them both. "It's going to be okay, because I'm here and you couldn't take care of it yourself, you bastard." Kiss, kiss. "Innamorato, wake up." Kiss. "Boss, it's over now." Taking a breath, Romano dove into a steamy kiss enough to wake the dead. Slowly, like a phoenix in the ashes, Spain wrapped his arms around the Italian kissing the sense out of him.
"Stupid boss," Romano murmured, relieved to see clear green eyes again. "Your kid had to come save you."
Spain smiled thinly. "Gracias, Romano. That was certainly a delicious kiss."
Romano flushed, before turning serious. "Boss, I've got a warning for you. I'm sure you've heard that something bad's going to happen soon in Europe. So help me God, please promise me you won't get involved in it no matter what happens. You're like this and I won't let you get wrapped up in our stupid fights. Don't get involved."
A hint of regret crossed Spain's face but the tight smile remained. "I don't think I could even if I wanted to. Will you be okay?"
"Of course," Romano huffed. "I'm Italy, after all."
"I won't fight," Spain promised, tapping his forehead against the smaller nation's. "But I'll always help you if you need me. I wouldn't be me if I didn't."
"Stupid boss." Romano sighed and rested his head against Spain's. "It's going to be another long one, I'm afraid."
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Believe what you see from heroes and cons.
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To be continued
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Note: …I kind of don't want to collab anymore. Mostly because I outlined the story and found out I had all the ideas I needed. I mean, sure, it's going to involve lots of work and time, which I have none of both, but I'll pitter along surely. Hopefully. Thanks for reading, and review, please!
