Part II
Time worked in funny ways between the Real World and the Multiverse. Months could go by in one without any time passing by in the other, or times could march on side-by-side with events in the Real World (henceforth dubbed World One) affecting events in the Multiverse.
Franklin Mycroft Livingston was already trying to figure it all out; his and Taylor's room was full of papers and charts, accompanied with physics and time-travel books.
"Look here," Franklin explained to Taylor Drews-Garcia on Sunday, halfway through with drawing out another timeline. "I am prepared to believe that out of the three possible scenarios – self-consistent history, flexible history, and alternate timeline – we are functioning under the alternate timeline theory."
"Alternate timelines?" echoed Taylor. "Okay, I get that the IAHF timeline is completely different from the World One timeline, but that doesn't explain –"
Franklin cut him off. "The alternate timeline theory states that there are alternate histories – alternate universes, in fanfiction terms – and that if people go back and forth in time their actions will create new alternate histories. We're in a different space as well as time, which is understandable… but…" he paused, furrowing his brows and adjusting his glasses. Taylor laughed.
"You're so busy, trying to figure out how you spent a year here without having any time pass by back home," he noted, "and then returning here from there to see that only a month or so had passed here."
"And that doesn't explain how the Staff can be affected by current events back home," agreed Franklin. "The only plausible explanation is time travel – when we step through those portals between IAHF and home, we also step back in time so it appears to all be a dream."
"And I guess that when Mr. Hugh appointed us to the G8, he somehow had us transported to IAHF in late July 2011, despite the fact that we spent nearly a year back home that would – if time at IAHF mirrored time back home –"
Taylor nodded, "That would propel the school into 2012," he agreed. "Why don't we just let it slide for now? I mean, I'm sure other people have more information on what's going on."
"Chalking it up to 'time works in funny ways' again, Tay? But I've been doing that for the past week!" Franklin stormed over to the window. Outside, the rain continued to fall, but not as violently as it had on Monday night when the strange travellers arrived. "I need explanations! If there's a problem out there, I want to solve it!"
"Some things are better left unsolved," Taylor replied, crossing over and looping his arms around his boyfriend's waist. "Unless you want them to lose their magic," he added softly.
Franklin continued to look at the raindrops against the glass.
Yes, indeed time worked in unexplainable ways. Even as Franklin tried to understand the time discrepancies between IAHF and World One, a completely different boy was trying to understand the original Hetalia anime without looking at the subtitles.
He failed.
A lot of people would say that the boy was pretty smart for his age – he was fifteen – considering that he was a B student in his Honours classes. He had wavy brown hair, hazel eyes, and a horrifying collection of pimples on his forehead. He needed reading glasses. He was just a garden-variety high school student.
Don't judge a book by its cover. By that same token, don't judge this boy by his cover.
"Peter!" the boy's mother screamed. "It's dinnertime! How many times do I have to tell you?"
"Coming, mum!" Peter hollered back, eyes still glued to the computer screen. 'Marukaite Chikyuu' began to play with the credits; Peter attempted to sing along.
He failed that, too.
"Peter Hawthorne, if you are not at the dinner table in two minutes –" his mother was yelling again. Peter decided that he was hungry. Yes, he was starving. It had nothing to do with his mother threatening to burn his North Italy cosplay outfit. Nothing at all.
"Ve, ve! I surrender!" Peter ran downstairs and sat down at the table, across from his older brother Anthony and his younger sister Elizabeth. They both looked extremely irritated at something. Peter was pretty sure it wasn't him.
"Hurry the fuck up next time, slowpoke!" Anthony snapped. He had just come back from work, it seemed; he was a college dropout. "You know Mum doesn't let us eat until everyone's here! Are you trying to starve us?"
"Slowpoke's a Pokémon," Peter remarked randomly as he took a seat.
"We don't care about your stupid Pokey-things," Elizabeth sniffed, checking her makeup in the mirror behind Peter (despite the fact that she was only twelve). "Come on, Pete. Sit down."
Mrs. Hawthorne sighed and smiled thinly at Peter, before nodding across the table to her husband. Mr. Hawthorne looked up from his paper.
"Oh, we can eat now?" he asked absentmindedly, folding the evening paper and taking off his reading glasses.
The three Hawthorne kids looked darkly at each other. If there was one thing that they could all share, it was annoyance at their father's absentmindedness.
But their father was a writer, so they were forced to let his eccentricities slide.
"So, Lizzie," Mr. Hawthorne said as the family ate dinner, "what did you do in school today?"
"Ditched third period to go on a date with Stan Langley," replied Elizabeth nonchalantly.
"Lizzie!" Mrs. Hawthorne exclaimed.
"Oh, that's very nice," Mr. Hawthorne mumbled dreamily.
"Richard!" Mrs. Hawthorne rounded on her husband. "You consider Elizabeth ditching class to be an achievement?"
"She ditched class?"
Everyone else at the table groaned. Mr. Hawthorne coughed awkwardly, trying to change the subject. "Well, then, Pete, what did you do?"
"Dad, Mum's giving you the Look," Anthony drawled.
"Tony, don't be like that," Mrs. Hawthorne blustered, but she continued to glare at her husband. "Richard, you should be disciplining Lizzie."
"Disciplining?" echoed Mr. Hawthorne. "You're the discipline person, Samantha, you do the honours."
Elizabeth snorted. Anthony rolled his eyes and muttered something about moving out. Peter said nothing.
After dinner, though, Peter headed up to his room. With 'Marukaite Chikyuu' blasting at full volume from his speakers (Elizabeth screamed at him once or twice to "shut the damn thing off so I can listen to Justin Bieber"), the boy opened his word processor and started writing.
It began innocently enough, with rants and rambling about how dysfunctional his family was, but soon…
Peter looked at the story he had written. He looked all around the room at the various Hetalia memorabilia that he had lovingly collected from various anime conventions. He looked at the mountain of empty Pocky boxes and Ramuné bottles. He looked at the Hungary poster that he had hung on his wall, opposite his bed. Ah, Elisabeta, with such pretty hair and eyes. Elisabeta would understand him. So would Feliciano… and Alfred… and maybe Kiku…
Well, it was no wonder why he wrote what he wrote. The Tale of Pete Hathorn – most original Original Character name ever, by Peter's standards – was… well, it was a story, yes. It was a story about how Pete, the main character, mysteriously and inexplicably appears in the World Meeting Room and spirits Elisabeta Héderváry, the love of his life, off to glorious adventures in the sunset. Of course, Pete Hathorn was a buff and extremely handsome fellow, with a perfectly pimple-free face and cooler taste in clothing. He was also super suave and had Elisabeta trembling 'like a young, unsuspecting doe' at his smouldering hazel gaze.
And the sex was good, too, despite the fact that Peter had as much experience with sex as a dilapidated old tin can.
"This is going to be epic," he told himself, before looking over at the picture of Hungary again. He stared at her for a long time (mentally misinterpreting his creeper stare for a smoulder of absolute sexiness) before turning back to his computer to submit his story.
Strangely enough, the submit button wouldn't work. Click, click, click. Peter stared at the screen in disbelief, half-tempted to throw his last bottle of Ramuné at it.
"Baka!" he hissed. "Bakabakabakabakabakabakabaka!"
"Oh dear, there's a chicken loose in the house," someone remarked snidely. Peter froze. Who was that?
He slowly spun around and came face-to-face with Arthur Kirkland.
Well, it wasn't really just Arthur. It was an extremely annoyed and looking slightly harassed Arthur. Still, there was no mistaking those thick eyebrows, or those green eyes, or the slightly choppy straw-blond hair.
"Oh… konnichiwa!" Peter waved awkwardly. "O… Ogenki… desu… ka? Peter desu." Actually, that came out more like 'Con-itchy-wa', 'oh-jean-key day-sue ka', and 'Peter day-sue', but that was beside the point.
"I no spreak Wapanese," Arthur mocked, before coughing. "I speak English. You might as well speak English, too, unless you want to make my ears bleed."
"Oh, gom –" Before Peter could mangle 'gomen nasai', Arthur glared at him. Peter fell silent.
"And technically, it should be 'konbanwa', Weaboo-san, because it's evening already." Arthur tsked. "You know there is something wrong when a British gentleman like me has to correct you on your Japanese."
Peter looked very awkward. "Er… yeah. Um, I'm hallucinating, right?"
"Unfortunately, no. If you were hallucinating, you would have hallucinated…" Arthur looked over at the computer screen and then at the Hungary poster. "Oh, poor Elisabeta." He smirked. "Anyway. I am here to tell you that you have been accepted at the International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction."
"The what of the what of Hetalia?" demanded Peter. This had got to be a dream, right? Maybe Mum put something in the dessert. Yeah, that was probably it. Mum put something in the dessert and now he was having some vivid hallucinations of Arthur Kirkland standing around in his room telling him he was accepted to some 'International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction'. There was no way this could actually be happening to him. Only in his wildest dreams did this sort of thing ever happen to him.
"The… International… Academy… of… Hetalia… Fanfiction," Arthur ground out, sounding out the words as if Peter was a dense two-year old. Once through, the Briton took out an envelope and brandished it at the fanboy. "This letter explains it all. Fill out the forms, sign the waivers. There's no time to lose," he added in a suddenly crisp tone.
Peter took the oddly-coloured envelope and opened it, taking out the oddly-coloured forms within. "What is this colour? Crayola obviously missed it," he remarked as he started filling out the form.
"Bled, school colour. Its origins are a closely-guarded secret between Kiku and me. You better not ask, or I will force-feed you my scones." Arthur glared at him; Peter vaguely thought that if he frowned any deeper his eyebrows would collide and form a unibrow. "It's red and blue mixed in the worst possible way that doesn't quite form purple."
Peter nodded. It was all a hallucination, anyways, no matter what Arthur said. Stupid LSD-spiked desserts.
Soon, he was done and the papers were in Arthur's hand. "Okay, now what?" Peter asked, deciding to humour his hallucinations a bit longer. "Will I have to find Platform Five Metres at King's Cross or something?"
"Don't be a twat," huffed Arthur. "Just go to sleep."
"But I'm already kinda dreaming, so wouldn't I just have to wake up?"
"If you're already dreaming, then falling asleep in a dream only takes you deeper," Arthur replied shortly. "And before you know it…" he opened a portal; it flashed blue before Peter's dumbstruck eyes. "You'll have to wake up and wonder… which one was the dream, and which one was reality?"
On that enigmatic note, the Briton left the room. Peter frowned, looking at the clock. It wasn't even bedtime yet, but somehow the hallucination was suddenly making him sleepy… very sleepy…
And before he knew it, his eyes had closed.
"Are these the last forms?" Ludwig asked, patting the inbox in the Customs office. A different Peter – Peter Kirkland – looked up from where he was approving some girl named Nanise East's form.
"I think Jerkland still has to turn in his bunch," the Sealander replied, shrugging.
"Any people after me this year?" Ludwig continued, as Ldwig and Veniciano bounced into the room – well, Ldwig sort-of bounced. He was blockier than the other Mochis, since he was German, after all.
"So far, no." Peter looked thoughtfully at the papers. "Aha, I like these kids. A lot of them hate Jerkland!"
Ludwig rolled his eyes. "All right, any… Special People?"
"What's a kitsune hanyou?" Peter asked.
"…I haven't the slightest. Maybe Kiku knows." Ludwig patted Veniciano. "Do you want me to get him for you?"
"Nah, I'll handle it! I'm a big Nation, you know!"
Ludwig didn't want to say anything to that. Peter continued to read the forms. His face suddenly paled.
"I know that look!" Ludwig gasped. "Arthur gets that look on his face every time someone mentions the League of Extraordinary Anglophiles!" He paused. "You have a fangirl!"
Peter nodded numbly, pointing to the form. "Look… look, Ludwig… I want my parents!" The six-year-old started bawling. "GET ME MY PARENTS!"
"Your parents?" Ludwig wondered who his parents could be, and why Peter was calling for them if he was a 'big Nation'.
"What's this?" Finnish Tino Väinämöinen appeared. "Peter! What's wrong?"
"Wait… you're his parent?" Ludwig demanded. "Where in the canon was this?"
"W'r' 'd'pt'v' p'r'nts," Swede Berwald Øxenstierna replied, shuffling into the room. As Tino comforted the sobbing Peter, Berwald looked at the form. He crumpled the form slightly.
Ludwig was an intimidating fellow – one of the manliest Nations in the cast, even. Even he felt intimidated by Berwald's horrifying Glare of Doom™, when the incensed Swede looked up from the paper.
"How bad is it?" Tino asked hesitantly.
"Th's f'ng'rl… 'f sh' g's n'r P't'r…" Berwald sent another Glare of Doom™ at the paper. "Sh' w'll p'y."