Hetalia: Is not mine.
Still no plot here, folks. This is just a random stream of stuff that comes from my brain. I'm finding out it helps clear blocks- kind of like leaving the faucet dripping to keep the pipes from freezing. Might be a little boring...
You've been warned.
Romano arrived at the lake the next day at 4:15, not really sure what he was doing there. He'd actually intended to blow the whole thing off, since, well, really, it was a stupid idea. It's not like he'd ever need to know how to skate on ice. And if he did, surely he'd learned enough the day before to figure it out for himself. It's not like he needed America to show him anything.
But, well, he'd spent most of the day lounging around the hotel room by himself. After Veneziano had dragged him down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast, his brother had run off to meet up with Germany to spend the day at a local Maple Syrup Festival, which might have interested Romano, just a little, if he hadn't found out that they weren't going to eat much maple syrup at the syrup festival, so much as attend several lectures about maple trees and the syrup-making process. Which was stupid. Everyone knew how you made maple syrup. Stab a tree, watch it bleed. Syrup. It wasn't rocket science. The fun part was eating it, dammit. Only Canadians would be so boring as to hold a festival to focus on the least interesting aspect of the whole thing. And only Germans would be so boring as to want to watch.
Besides, the prospect of being the third wheel yet again, and having to trail along behind watching them make goo-goo-eyes at each other and all that sickening couple-y shit that they did without having something sweet to distract him was less-than-appealing. So he opted to stay behind at the hotel, watching incredibly boring Canadian daytime television and ordering the most expensive desserts and meals and wines the hotel offered (making sure to charge the room service bill to Germany).
Which killed time until about noon, when he finally had to admit that he was bored out of his skull. He tried for an early start on his siesta, but he'd had an early night and slept late this morning already- there was only so long he could sleep, dammit. He wasn't Spain, after all. 2 o'clock found him wide awake, staring at the ceiling, with the incessant hum of the hotel air conditioner in his ears.
And so when 3:30 rolled around, he finally gave in and decided to take America up on his offer- if only to stave off insanity. After several false starts and near-changes of mind, here he was. A little late, true, but definitely here.
So where was America?
"HEY, Italy!"
"Aiiiee!" Right behind him, as it turned out. Romano looked up from where he crouched in the snow to see the American blinking down at him in surprise, holding a steaming cup in either hand.
"Hahaha, you alright?" America asked, impressed. "I've never seen anyone jump that high and duck and cover so fast! You get a lot of practice?"
"Yeah, I'm a fucking expert." Romano growled, scrambling to his feet. Brushing the snow off himself, he continued, "Didn't anyone ever teach you it's rude to sneak up on people?"
"I didn't sneak!" America corrected, "I totally said your name and everything so you would know I was there. You just weren't paying attention. Or maybe you're just high-strung. You ever hear of Valium?"
"I'll show you high-strung." Romano countered. "There's nothing wrong with me, dammit. Anyone would be startled if some jackass came out of nowhere and screamed in their ear."
"I didn't scream!" America defended, and held out a cup. "Here, I think you could use this. Might take the edge off of whatever you're on."
"Were you this much of an asshole yesterday?" Romano grumbled, accepting the cup and taking a sip, "I must've been on something if I agreed to let you teach me anything. Did you drug my cider, dammit?"
"Haha no way! You were just high on life, Italy! Like me!" America laughed, slapping his back.
"That's the corniest shit I've ever heard, bastard." Romano snorted.
"Doesn't mean it isn't true, though." The taller nation commented, turning to look him over. "I see you're dressed warmer today. Good thing, too- it's supposed to drop another 10 degrees before sundown."
"Right, I'll be going now." The Italian turned around to head back to the rental car.
"Haha, no way! Come on, you'll be fine. It'll be fun!" America assured as he caught him by the arm, hauling him towards a bench on the edge of the frozen lake. "We'll be keeping plenty warm, anyway. Ice skating's great cardio!"
Romano semi-reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged along with only a half-hearted grunt of protest, not really wanting to go back to an empty hotel room to be bored out of his mind. At least here he'd have company, even if it was American company. "Alright, but I expect a ride out of this, bastard. Maybe two. Or three. And if I don't have any fun then you have to give me rides until I say I'm done."
"Yes master." America responded sarcastically, grinning and rolling his eyes. He didn't really mind; he liked giving rides, and Mattie would hardly ever let him anymore because it was 'too embarrassing' or 'we're too old for that, America'. Personally, he didn't see why being an adult meant you had to stop having fun.
"Heh, about time you learned your place, peon." Romano smirked as America released his arm.
"What, under you? Since when?" America asked in curious amusement.
"Since I said so, bastard." Romano asserted, unslinging his skates from over his shoulder.
"Hah, well, while you're relegating me to 'faithful steed', why don'tcha finish up your cider and lace up so we can get started." The taller nation grinned, disposing of his own cup and unshipping his skates, flopping down onto the bench to put them on.
"Yeah, yeah." Romano sighed, sinking down onto the bench. He nursed his drink slowly, not entirely eager for the 'fun' to start. Sitting was comfortable, dammit. Even if it was awfully cold out. He pulled the cap down further over his ears, hunching his shoulders to try and keep warm. America, having finished lacing his skates, turned to regard him expectantly, swinging his freshly-skated feet like a restless child. "You 'bout done?"
"Mm. Gimme a bit, bastard."
"'K. How much you got left?"
"I dunno. Half?"
"What? No way! You're taking forever. Are you drinking it, or trying to absorb it psychically? 'Cause I can tell you now- I've tried that, and it doesn't work."
"It's called savouring, bastard. You might want to try it, instead of, you know, inhaling everything that comes near your mouth-hole."
"I savour. I totally savour. I just savour fast, because I'm awesome like that. I can savour in seconds!"
Romano rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well those of us without super-savouring powers like to enjoy our drinks like human beings, jackass."
America sighed, flopping over on the bench with a whine. "Man, that takes forever. Hey." He pushed himself up off the bench, and held out a hand. "Gimme your skates."
Romano handed them over, watching as the blond took them and looked them over. "They're the same skates as before, if that's what you're doing."
"Nah." America settled down on the ground in front of him, legs crossed, and reached for the Italian's foot. "Might as well get your skates on while you're busy 'savouring' your drink. Otherwise we'll be here all night."
"Knock yourself out, weirdo." Romano half-shrugged. If the idiot wanted to do all his work for him, he wasn't about to argue. Bastard obviously had the energy to spare.
Unlacing and pulling off Romano's right boot, America's brows raised, and he whistled. "Holy crap, your feet are really tiny! I mean, I knew they were small, but damn. They're like, half the size of mine, if even. Holy crap. I bet my hands are bigger than your feet. Look!" He held up Romano's foot, splaying his hand across the bottom of it in comparison. Sure enough, his fingers extended almost a full inch farther than the Italian nation's sock-covered toes. Romano scowled, hunching defensively.
"So what? Is there a point to this, bastard?"
"Haha no, it's just neat! They're so tiny and cute, it's like you're a prince-" A boot to the face from Romano's free foot sent him tumbling backwards, swiftly followed by an angry Italian.
"You had better not been about to say 'princess', fucker." Romano snarled, grinding his unshod foot into America's face.
"Watch out for the glasses, Italy!" America peeled the foot from his face, holding it back. "I need those to be me!"
"You shoulda thought of that before you decided to be a jackass, jackass!" Romano answered, struggling to push past America's hand to kick his face in.
"Hahah, sorry, but c'mon! You're like, Cinderella! I feel like I should be looking for a glass slipper or somethin'." America grinned unrepentantly, easily holding back a vengeful Italian leg.
"Oh that is IT, you ASSHOLE!" Romano tackled the prone nation, straddling the idiot's chest, scooping up handfuls of snow and smashing them into the surprised blond's face. "Here's your damn slipper, moron! I'll give you Cinderella!"
"Shitshitfuck, that's cold!" America yelped and writhed under the assault, sneezing as snow got up his nose. "Shit, it's in my ears!" Flipping them over, he pinned Romano to the ground with one hand against the Italian's chest, digging around in the snow with the other. "Payback time." He grinned.
"NonononoI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryIhaverelativesinNewYork" Romano whimpered, desperately shielding his face as America gathered up a huge ball of snow, "You wouldn't hit Cinderella, would you?" He yelped in a final plea, as he curled up in preparation for ice oblivation.
"Hahaha what?" America hesitated, unable to attack someone who was whimpering so pitifully, and shook the snow from his hand to poke the quivering South Italy's cheek. "Jeez Italy, it's just snow. It's not like it's gonna kill you or somethin'."
Roman sniffled, peeking out from between his fingers to see if it was safe. "S-shut up, I know that! I-it's just...really cold, okay?"
"So, what, you have some crippling snow allergy or somethin'?" America teased, poking Romano's cheek again.
"Yeah, it's a curse." The other swatted at his hand, "I turn into a tomato fairy and disappear if you hit me with snow. Now get off me, dammit!" He pushed against America's chest, trying to shove the larger nation off.
"Okay, okay." America allowed himself to be pushed off, settling into the snow next to Romano. "So you ready to skate, ladyfoot?"
"Fuck you!" Romano chucked a handful of snow at the blond, who just laughed and held out a hand to help him up.
"C'mon, let's get your skates on and get on the ice."
Romano brushed the snow off his clothes and sock and stood, balancing on one foot. "I can't walk in the snow in my sock, bastard. It'll get wet." America glanced down.
"Oh, yeah, you're right. Sorry. Wait here one sec." He trotted back to the bench to gather up the discarded footwear, dropping the Italian's boot onto the seat and bringing the skates back to where Romano waited. Dropping down on one knee, he held up the right skate with a flourish for Romano to slip on. "Your skate, your highness."
"Thank you, peon." Romano responded imperiously, holding onto the blond's shoulder for balance while he slipped his foot into the skate. "Now, lace me up." America snorted in amusement but did as he was 'asked', balancing the other's foot on his leg as he pulled the laces tight and tied them off. He swatted the Italian's ankle and gestured for the other foot when he was done.
"Other side."
Romano obediently lifted his other foot, but found he wobbled so badly on the blade of the skate that he had to hold onto America's shoulders with both hands while the other pulled off his boot and slid on his skate. "Augh. How do you walk in these things, bastard? They're all wobbly and shit."
"Practice." America answered, pulling the laces tight. "I've been doin' this for a couple hundred years. I could probably dance in these things. Don't worry though, it won't take you nearly that long."
"Cheh, trust me, I-"
"Ve~, Romano~! What are you and America doing?" They looked up to see Veneziano skipping towards them.
"Hi, other Italy!" America greeted with a wave, tying off the laces. "Just finishin' getting Italy's skates on. You here to skate, too?"
"Yep~! The festival's over, so Germany and I decided to come here again! Skating is so much fun~."
Romano frowned, tentatively settling his weight across both skates. "The festival's over? It's not even five. What kind of festival ends after 8 hours?"
"A Canadian one." America answered, standing and brushing the snow off his trousers. "After the heady excitement of the pancake breakfast and four-hour lecture they have to go have a lie-down to settle their nerves."
"I feel asleep during the lecture." Veneziano admitted. "But Germany says it was very interesting! The pancakes were delicious, ve~."
"Canada does great pancakes." America agreed. "The best. Light and fluffy and buttery and with the syrup and unngh." He moaned rapturously. "I could eat them all day. And sometimes he puts chocolate chips and stuff in them for me! Or blueberries or gummy bears and stuff."
"All day is a lot of pancakes." Veneziano observed. "Won't you get sick?"
Romano snorted. "You eat pasta all day, idiot. Same damn difference."
"Pasta's not sweet, though." Veneziano countered.
"It totally could be. You could put syrup on it! Stuff like that." America interjected, oblivious to the Italians' horrified/revolted stares. "I bet that'd be really good. Or like, chocolate sauce!"
"...Step away from the crazy person, Veneziano. I can't run in skates, so you'll have to save yourself. Run while you still can." Romano whispered sotto voce, leaning towards his brother while keeping a wary eye on America. Unfortunately leaning unbalanced him further, and he yelped as he started to fall, only to be caught yet again by America. "Save yourself, Veneziano! He's got me!" He flailed theatrically in America's arms, and his brother giggled and shrieked, running away.
"You can run, but you can't hide, Italy!" America cackled, slinging Romano over his shoulder and going after the escaping nation. "I'm gonna getcha!" Veneziano shrieked louder, flailing as he ran, slowed down by his helpless giggles. America caught up to him easily, despite his skates, and hoisted North Italy over his other shoulder with a maniacal laugh. "I got the Italys, ahahaha! I'm king of the worrrrld!"
"You'll never take us alive, bastard!" Romano howled, pounding on his back. "Quick, Veneziano, grab his scarf! We can use it to cover his mouth- it's the source of his evil powers!"
"But, but, what if he eats us, brother?" Veneziano pretended to worry as he stifled his giggles, holding onto America's scarf, "I'm scared!"
"You're right." Romano answered faux-thoughtfully, "The bastard will eat just about anything."
"I've heard Italians are especially delicious." America agreed, snapping his teeth with a clack.
"No, no, no don't eat me~, I taste bad!" Veneziano pleaded, "Very, very bad!"
"Only one way to find out!" America answered with a mock-growl.
"Don't worry Veneziano, I'll save us!" Romano shouted, twisting to wrap the scarf around America's face. "Take that, bastard! Ahahaha!"
"Nooo!" America howled, sliding the Italians down from his shoulders and stumbling backwards, falling slowly into a snowdrift. "Cuuuurrrse yoouuuu! Auughghgh." He squirmed in the snow, tugging at the scarf covering his face. "I've been vanquished! No delicious Italians for meee~."
"You saved me, brother~!" Veneziano cheered, throwing himself at Romano (which since Romano still hadn't mastered balancing on his skates off-ice sent them both tumbling to the ground with simultaneous yelps), "My hero!" He giggled, wriggling up to kiss Romano's cheek.
The sound of a pointedly cleared throat made them all look up. Germany stood on the pavement a few feet away, holding a cup of coffee in either hand and looking terribly confused. "What-"
"Germany, Germany!" Veneziano greeted, scrambling to his feet and bounding over to the other nation, "Guess what? America went crazy and tried to eat me and Romano, but brother saved me by covering the source of his evil powers! You should have seen it, Germany!"
"...America...tried to eat you?" Germany asked, brows furrowing in further confusion. He looked over to wear the superpower lay sprawled in the snow.
"Yep! But you don't have to worry 'cause Romano saved me!" Veneziano answered happily. "Isn't that great? He was so brave!"
"...South Italy?" Germany echoed again, glancing over to where Romano was struggling to regain his feet.
"Mhmm~! Is that coffee for me?"
"Oh, yes." Germany seemed to remember the cups he held, and offered one to Veneziano, relieved to be off the bewildering subject of cannibalistic nations and South Italys gone wild. "You have snow all over your clothing." He observed, brushing it off as Veneziano enjoyed his drink. "You should be more careful, you might catch cold."
"Well, that was fun." America said, sitting up in the snowdrift and settling his scarf back around his neck. "I think I have snow down my collar, though."
"That's what you get for trying to eat us, bastard." Answered Romano, very carefully brushing the snow from his own clothes as he tried not to fall over.
"I couldn't help it, I was under a curse." America answered back, standing and shaking the snow off himself like a dog. "The curse of the tomato fairy!"
"Tomato fairies don't curse!" Veneziano objected from the sidewalk. "They're good fairies, ve~!"
"They do if you do the things America does to their tomatoes." Romano said drily, crossing his arms. "Like chocolate sauce." Veneziano shivered, with an unhappy 've~'.
"Pfffft." America said dismissively. "It's awesome and you know it. You're just mad 'cause I said you had teeny-tiny feet. Which you totally do."
"Ve~, you know? They didn't have any skates our size in the store, so brother and I had to get women's skates!" Veneziano piped up helpfully, to his brother's horror.
"V-veneziano! Shut up!" Romano shouted, moving to silence his brother and tumbling to the ground as his foot turned under him. It was too late, anyway, the damage had been done. He pushed himself up on all fours to growl at America, whose lips were twitching suspiciously as he tried hard not to laugh. "Not one word, bastard. Not one."
America raised his eyebrows in an innocent 'who, me?' expression, which might have worked if he hadn't immediately followed it with a grin that said 'I might not be sayin' anything now, but I'm laughing like a maniac inside and you'd better believe this is going to come back to bite you'. Romano contented himself with narrowing his eyes at the other nation briefly, before turning his concentration to struggling to his feet. Clearing his throat, America stepped forward to help him up. "Ready to hit the ice, Italy?"
"I guess." Romano pursed his lips, unenthused by the prospect. "Might as well get it over with." Waving companionably to the others, America dragged him onto the lake to begin their lesson.
Once on the ice, America insisted that they run through what he'd learned the day previous, before teaching him anything new. Once he was satisfied that Romano both remembered and could execute everything smoothly, he declared that he was ready to learn the hockey stop.
"Okay, now- hold onto me for balance, okay?" He started, going down on his knee on the ice. "Left hand here." He patted his right shoulder, "And face that way." He gestured left. Romano complied, settling his hand on America's right shoulder and turning. America nodded. "Good. Now what you're going to be doing, is using the inside edge of your blade to shave the ice. We'll start with your right foot. Tilt your skate like this," He lifted a hand, tilting it in demonstration. "A little less. Good, right there. That's the inside edge, okay? You're going to want to do it just like that. Okay, now- push outward with your leg, and try to shave off a layer of ice. You can use me for support if you need to. Ah, stop- you're putting too much pressure downward, see? You do that, and it'll just catch the ice and you'll turn your ankle. Be gentle- just slide your foot out on the inside edge, and try and peel the surface- yes, just like that. Perfect. See how you're just shaving a fine layer off the top? You've got the angle just right, right there. Okay? Now, do that again. No, don't straighten your leg," He reached out to press gently on the back of Romano's knee, "keep your knee bent a little. It's kinda like a shock absorber, alright? It'll help you keep your balance and distribute your weight properly- you lock your knee and you'll just flip right the fuck over or break something, and that sucks, trust me. Much better, keep it just like that." He nodded approvingly as Romano managed another successful shave. He made him repeat the motion several dozen times, and then start over on the other side, turning around to practice with his opposite leg. Once he was satisfied that Romano had it down, he stood. "Okay." He said, "Now that you kind of have a feel for that, this is what I want you to do. I'm gonna go back a bit, and I want you to skate towards me, and practice turning your foot in front of you, like this," he demonstrated as he spoke, "rotating your hips and bringing the skate 'round just like you were just doing, shaving the ice as you go. You'll be using your other leg mostly for balance at this point- this is just to get you used to turning your skate to stop. Got it?"
"Got it." Romano affirmed, fully confident in his got-it-ness.
"Alright." America skated easily backwards a few paces. "Let's see what you got."
"Prepare to be amazed, bastard." Romano smirked, skating towards the taller nation and turning his foot...and turning, and turning, and- "It doesn't work, dammit!" He accused, stuck in a loop.
"Hahaha, hang on, hang on." America chuckled, skating up to halt the Italian's spinning. "That wasn't bad, actually- except for the spinning. You got the technique down, you just have to make sure you keep your momentum going forward, in the same direction, instead of letting the skate lead you into a turn. It's a little counter-inuitive at first, but you want most of your weight on your leading leg, and ride the inside edge into a stop. Um, here." He took Romano's hands in his, and stepped back, planting his feet apart. "I'll pull you forward a bit, and you practice turning and keeping your momentum going this way. I'll hold you up, so you just focus on getting a feel for the movement, okay? You wanna get used to the resistance of the ice, and ride it. Make sense?"
"Ehh..." Romano gnawed his lip, staring uneasily down at his skates.
"C'mon Italy, you can do it." America encouraged, squeezing his hands. "I'll pull you towards me, and you turn and shave the ice with your skate. Okay? You ready?" He made to pull the Italian towards him, and Romano's eyes widened in alarm.
"Stop stop stop! Wait!"
"What, why? You can do it, Italy, don't worry!"
"Of course I can do it, dammit! It's not that, moron!" Romano protested. "You can't just pull me forward like that! If you do that, we're both going to fall!"
"What? No we won't." America contradicted. "It'll be fine. I gotcha."
"But who's got you, bastard? If you fall on me, you'll kill me! You're huge!"
"I got me, Italy! It's not a problem, okay? Just relax and let me handle it."
"Bullshit! If I slip or fall it's gonna pull you off-balance, and then you'll squish me to jelly! I don't want to be jelly, bastard!"
"Come on Italy, it'll be fine." America rolled his eyes, pulling the panicked South Italy towards him. Completely unprepared and unwilling, Romano lost his balance and flailed in alarm, trying to scrabble backwards and maintain his upright status at the same time. In the process his right knee accidentally caught America right in the groin. "Gnnnhhhnng." America whimpered, eyes crossing, and fell to his knees in agony, releasing the other's arms to belatedly shield the effected area. His arms now free, Romano latched onto the American for support, flinging his arms around the blond's neck and clinging tightly to him, relieved to finally be stable.
"You bastard." He panted, heart racing. "You coulda killed me."
America didn't answer, too busy drowning in the throbbing, crashing waves of pure pain radiating from his vital regions, overwhelming all other senses in incoherent, mindless agony.
"What the fuck were you-" Romano started once he recovered from his freakout, and pulled back to berate the other nation, stopping when he noticed the blond's predicament. "Oh. Uh, sorry."
"Don't worry about it." America wheezed painfully, once the pain had subsided to merely unbearable levels, "It's not like I planned on having kids, anyway. Ohhh fuck." He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and toppling sideways to lay gasping on the ice, curling into a fetal position.
Romano winced in sympathy. "Uh...you, uh... want some ice for that?"
America screwed one eye open to stare at him disbelievingly. Romano shifted uncomfortably.
After five or ten extremely long, awkward (for Romano) and painful (for America) minutes, America finally uncurled, pushing himself up on all fours. "Okay." He panted. "Okay. Let's try that again. Without kicking anyone in the nuts."
"It was an accident." Romano defended guiltily.
"Yeah, I know." America nodded, staggering to his feet.
"And it was your own damn fault anyway, dammit." Romano muttered, hunching in on himself, eyes sliding off to the side. "If you hadn't yanked on me like that-"
"I'm sorry, I forgot you were a total spazz." America responded, throwing his hands up and rolling his eyes. He didn't really blame the Italian for what'd happened, it had been an accident, but the residual pain was making him irritable. "Seriously, you might want to look into getting some Valium. Or St John's Wort, if you prefer the natural stuff. Valerian's pretty popular, I hear. Something to help you chill out."
"What the hell? I don't need to chill, asshole! I'm chill. I'm chill as fuck." Romano growled, crossing his arms.
"Yes, my testicles can attest to your unsurpassed chillocity." The blond deadpanned drily. "Truly you are the most chill of dudes. The mother-fucking Fonz. On ice."
"I already apologized for that, bastard." Romano shifted again, flushing guiltily. "I-it's not like I did it on purpose, dammit."
"I know, I know." America sighed. "I'm sorry for pulling before you were ready. But you really don't have to worry, okay Italy? I'm not gonna fall -if you don't kick me in the balls, that is- and I won't let you fall, either."
"But-!"
"Really." America insisted. "I'm pretty strong, so I can easily handle it if you go off-balance, okay? How else do you think I'm able to skate with you on my shoulders?"
Oh, right. Suddenly Romano felt a little silly for having freaked out. And after all, it's not like America had let him fall yet. "I, I knew that, dammit."
"So you ready to try again?" America encouraged, holding out his hands.
"Alright. But if you turn me into jelly, I'm kicking your ass." Romano warned him, skating closer and taking his hands.
"No jellied Italy, got it." America grinned, planting his feet on the ice once more. "Okay. Now, this time, just...lean back. As far as you can go."
Hesitantly, Romano leaned his weight backwards- and stiffened as his feet started to slide forward. He grasped America's hands tightly, struggling to maintain his footing on the ice.
"It's okay." America reassured him. "Go ahead and let yourself slide. Just relax. I gotcha." A little nervously, Romano complied, relaxing his tense muscles with considerable conscious effort, and letting America support his weight as he leaned backward, sliding forward 'till his legs were halfway between the arc of America's legs. "I gotcha." America soothed, "You're just fine. You've got nothing to be afraid of. I'm not gonna let you fall." Slowly, Romano relaxed for real, letting the taller nation take all of his weight. "See? I 're just fine. I gotcha." Suspended eight inches above the ice, Romano closed his eyes, breathing evenly, completely relaxed. After a moment, he opened his eyes again, blinking up at the other nation, who smiled.
"Good job. I'm gonna pull you up now, okay? You ready?"
"Yeah." Romano nodded, and America effortlessly pulled him upright, settling him back on his feet.
"You did good." America praised. "Just fine, Italy. Now, I'm gonna pull you towards me, and I want you to try and turn like I showed you before, okay? I'll support most of your weight for now, you just focus on turning and shaving the ice, and maintaining that forward momentum, okay? You remember how?"
"Of course." The Italian nodded. "I remember, dammit."
"Good. You ready?"
"Un." Romano nodded again, and this time managed to focus on turning and peeling the ice instead of kneeing anyone in the junk, accidentally or otherwise. The rest of the lesson went much more smoothly, as Romano learned to stop first with one, then with both feet, gradually supporting more of his own weight as he did so, until America decided he ready to stop on his own, sans all support.
"I'm gonna demonstrate a few times, and I want you to watch. I'm gonna do full-on stops, with both feet, which is what I want you to do. Pay attention to how I shift my weight just before I turn to stop, okay?" He instructed, and skated to a distance a few yards away. "You watchin'?"
"I'm watching, bastard." Romano affirmed, slightly nervous at the thought of doing it on his own. America nodded, and skated back and forth in a 12-foot strip, stopping at each end. After about six stops, he skated back to stand next to South Italy.
"That's what you're gonna be doin'." He stated, placing a hand on the Italian's shoulders encouragingly. "Don't worry about goin' too fast at first, just go at whatever pace you feel comfortable, okay?"
"Okay." Romano nodded.
"Great. You can do it, Italy!" America grinned, patting his shoulder and stepping back.
Romano looked back at him, surprised. "A-aren't you coming with me?"
"Nope." America shook his head. "You're doin' this on your own."
"B-but, what if I fall? You're supposed to catch me!" Romano clenched his fists, trepidation rising. Fuck fuck fuck, he was going to crash.
"You'll be alright, Italy." America reassured him. "You got this down. You've already done it with me holding on to you, and you can do it on your own, no problem."
"But, can't you just... come with me? It's-, I-, what if-"
"Italy." America skated in front of him, taking his shoulders in hand. "Italy, you got this. You'll be fine. It's just a little stop, okay? Even if you fall, it'll be okay. Okay?"
"B-but-" Romano worried his lip, starting to hyperventilate.
"Italy, look at me." America cupped his chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. "I wouldn't let you do it on your own if I didn't think you had it down, okay? You don't need me to catch you. You're doing great. You can do this." He stated, radiating confidence. Romano held his gaze for a moment, and exhaled, nodding.
"I can do this."
"Damn right." America affirmed, releasing his chin to swat his shoulder. "Get out there and show 'em how it's done, Italy."
"I will!"
"Kick some ass!" America cheered, stepping out of his way.
"Just watch me, bastard!" Romano answered, kicking off. A few smooth strokes, a glide, and without even really thinking about it, he twisted his hips, shifting his center of gravity, shaving the ice and- executed a perfect stop. He blinked down at his skates for a few moments, scarcely able to believe it.
"Yahoo!" America cheered again, shimmying in a victory dance. "You did it, Italy! Way to go!"
"Of course I did, bastard!" Romano crowed, hands on his hips. "I'm Romano Italy, dammit! There's nothing I can't do!"
"Haha, well now you've mastered Canadian ice." America grinned, skating up to where he stood. "So whattya wanna do now?"
"I want to get the fuck off this ice and get some dinner." Romano decided, realizing how late it was.
"Yeah, I'm pretty hungry myself." America admitted, and pulled out his cell. "I should call Canada and have him pick me up. Hey, you wanna come to dinner? My brother makes great food."
"I don't know." Romano frowned, considering it. "Will there be pasta?"
"I can ask." America answered, waiting for his brother to pick up. "Hey, Canada! Where are you? That's great, I'm done here. You wanna swing by and pick me up? No, I walked. Well, I could, but I'm lazy. Hey, what are you making for dinner? Can you do some pasta? Mhm. One sec." He covered the mouthpiece and turned to Romano, "Do you think your brother and Germany would want to come, too?"
Romano shrugged. "You can ask. Is there pasta?"
"He can do pasta. You have a preference?"
"Good pasta."
America rolled his eyes. "What kind of pasta do we have, Canada?" He covered the mouthpiece again. "He says at short notice he can do chicken scar-, scarpa-, uh, sec. What was that again?" He asked Canada. Romano rolled his own eyes.
"Scarpariello?"
"Yeah, that." America nodded, relieved. "Chicken scarpa-thingy, and Orec...Orashetty?"
"Orecchiette?" Romano supplied, wincing at America's pronunciation.
"Yeah, with maple sausage, which you totally have to have if you haven't. You comin'?"
"Eh." Romano shrugged. "But if it's not edible, I'm leaving."
"Canada's a great cook." America reassured him. "You'll like it. Hang on a sec, Canada, I'm gonna see if Germany and the miniature Italy wanna come, too." He looked around. "You see your brother, Italy?"
"No, but I can find him." Romano cupped his mouth. "OI, VENEZIANO! FREE PASTA!"
"YAY! PASTA!" Came an echo from the shore, and soon North Italy was skating towards them, dragging a surprised Germany behind. "Ve~, Romano, where's the pasta? You said pasta, right? I heard pasta!"
"You heard pasta." Romano confirmed, gesturing to America. "The American bastard wants us to come to his brother's place for dinner. Chicken scarpariello and orecchiette with maple sausage."
"And tomatoes?" Veneziano asked eagerly. They turned to America.
"Canada. Tomatoes?" He listened for a moment, and nodded. "Sun dried and fresh- roma and cherry."
The Italians shared a glance, and nodded. "We're in." Romano said.
"Germany?" America asked, glancing at the other blond over his phone. "There's also maple-glazed ham and roast potatoes and vegetables for the non-pasta fanatics."
"That sounds very good. Thank you for the invitation, America." Germany nodded, having finally caught up to what was going on. Italy dragging him out onto the lake in the middle of his conversation with the beverage vendor about the cider-making process had been somewhat disorienting.
"Yes, thank you!" Veneziano echoed, smiling.
"No problem guys. Glad to have you over." America grinned, and turned his attention back to his phone. "That's two Italys and one Germany, Canada. Uhhuh. Sweet. I dunno, I'll ask. Sec." Hey guys, you wanna ride with me and Canada, or drive separately? We can drive you back to your hotel afterwards if you think you'll be drinking. Or you can stay the night if you'd like, Canada's got room."
"We can-"
"We'll ride with you and your brother, thank you." Germany interjected, cutting across South Italy's attempt to insist that he would drive. He knew from experience that the Italy brothers would be drunk before the evening had passed, if Canada's wine was any good, which would force him to be designated driver for the evening, which in turn inevitably resulted in a fight, since neither Italy liked to relinquish the driver's seat, intoxicated or not.
"'Kay. Yep, we're all with you, Canada. Yeah. See you soon!" Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he turned to grin at the others, gesturing towards the shore to indicate that they return, and the others followed his lead. "Great! He'll be here in five, so we should probably head for the lot."
Once on the bank, the other nations unlaced their skates while America fetched their shoes from the back of Germany's rental (it turned out Germany had retrieved Romano's boots from where they lay and placed them in the car with his own and North Italy's), and they made their way to the parking lot, arriving just as Canada pulled up.
After Canada put his foot down about America trying to take over the driver's seat and a brief argument about seating arrangements (Romano didn't want to sit anywhere near Germany, and so ended up riding shotgun), everyone was settled peacefully in the car and on they were underway.
Relatively peacefully, anyway.
"How was your Maple Festival, Canada?" America asked, leaning forward to poke his brother from the backseat. "Boring? I bet it was totally boring."
"Just because there wasn't any snake wrestling doesn't make it boring, America." Canada sighed. "Not all festivals have to end in explosions, you know."
"Just the good ones." America grinned, poking his brother again.
"Actually, the lecture on native maple tree varieties and hybrids was quite fascinating." Germany offered, and Romano snorted in response.
"Do you think so?" Canada asked, shyly pleased at the praise.
"Yes. I also found it particularly interesting that the syrup collection process was originally taught to settlers by the native peoples. I was unaware that it had predated North America's colonisation."
"Oh, yes." Canada beamed. "They didn't use it to make syrup, since they had no way to store it, but they did drink the sap and make several maple-"
"Ca-Na-Daa that's so boring!" America groaned, leaning his forehead against the back of the driver's seat in mock-agony. "The only interesting thing about maple trees is syrup, and you don't need to waste a festival on lectures about syrup. Everyone knows how to make syrup. Stab a tree, make it bleed. Bam! Syrup. Festivals should be about eating. And wrestling things, and rides, and explosions."
"Not everyone is five years old, America." Canada responded, rolling his eyes. "And stop poking me, I'm trying to drive."
"But I'm bored!" America answered, poking him again. "And you're poke-able."
"Maple help me America, I will pull this car over and throw you out on the ice, I swear it." Canada threatened.
"You should really stop poking your brother, America." Germany agreed. "He needs his concentration to drive safely."
"Nah, he'll be okay, I do this all the time." America said dismissively, poking Canada again. Canada growled.
"Why do you keep poking your brother, America? That's mean!" Veneziano piped up.
"No it isn't!" America defended. "He's my little brother, it's my job to harass him. Besides, he really is poke-able. Here, feel!" He insisted, poking Canada again. The Italian nation leaned forward, joining in.
"Ve~, you're right! His cheeks are so soft!" North Italy marvelled, prodding Canada's cheek. Germany facepalmed, sighing tiredly.
"I know, right?" America smiled, proud of his brother's poke-ableness. "He's just the cutest lil thing!"
"Germany, brother, poke him too! Poke Canada! He's so soft!"
"Please don't." Canada sighed, and Germany reached out to pull North Italy's hand away from the other nation's face.
"You shouldn't poke people unless they ask you to." Germany scolded.
"Ve~, but, he's so soft!" Veneziano protested. "You really should see!"
"Be that as it may, he doesn't want to be poked." Germany answered. "At the very least, you shouldn't poke him while he's driving. It's dangerous."
"But America's doing it!"
"I totally am." America agreed, and Canada slapped his hand.
"Damn it, America, I'm trying to drive! Play with Kumakichi if you're so bored!" He scolded gently, scooping up his bear and depositing Kumajiro in the back seat.
"Kumajiro!" America exclaimed, taking the bear in his arms. "How's my stinky bear?"
"Says the guy who smells like hamburgers all the time." Kumajiro responded, snuffling at America's neck.
"I just groomed him, he should smell fine." Canada said.
"You're right!" America answered, burying his nose in the bear's fur. "Mmmm, he smells like maple syrup. Delicious. I could eat him right up. I could eat you, Kumabear!"
"Don't eat my bear." Canada warned mildly.
"Ve~, don't eat the bear, America! He's so cute! Isn't he cute, Germany?"
"He is." Germany agreed, watching the bear interestedly.
"You wanna pet him?" America offered, holding out the bear. Both other nations eagerly leaned forward to ruffle Kumajiro's fur.
"Awww, he's so cuuute!" Veneziano enthused, rubbing a round bear ear.
"His name is Kumakichi?" Germany asked, scratching under Kumajiro's chin, blushing slightly at the adorableness of the bear.
"Kumakon." Canada answered.
"Kumajiro, Canada. His name is Kumajiro."
"Oh, right. Sorry, Kumajiro." Canada apologized sheepishly.
"Who are you?" Answered Kumajiro, nuzzling into Germany's hand and pawing North Italy's cheek as they stroked his fur. Canada sighed.
"You're so cute, Kumajiro! That's such a cute name!" Veneziano giggled, squeezing the bear.
"He's just a bear." Romano protested, jealous that he didn't get to pet the bear, whatever its name was. He hadn't even noticed it sleeping on the floor next to Canada's feet earlier. "I don't see what's so special about a dumb bear."
"Kumajiro's not dumb! He's a very smart bear!" His brother protested, rubbing his face in white fur. "You're a very smart bear, aren't you?"
"I dunno about that." America said. "I mean, he's pretty good at crossword puzzles, but he sucks at long division."
"I don't need math, I'm a bear." Kumajiro said, rolling on his back and waving his paws in the air to up his cute factor. Both Germany and Italy melted at the sight, eagerly rubbing his fuzzy bear tummy.
"That's right, you don't need to worry about nasty math or any of that stupid education stuff." America agreed, playing with a paw. "Daddy takes good care of you."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence." Canada said.
"No, silly, I'm daddy. You're the mommy. You're way too girly to be the daddy. Isn't that right, Kumajiro?"
"America..."
"Uh oh, daddy's in trouble. Guess I'm sleeping on the couch tonight." America spoke conversationally to Kumajiro. "Now remember, Kuma-bear, just because mommy and daddy fight sometimes doesn't mean we don't love you. You see, it's just that mommy gets very irritable at a certain time during the month, because-"
"Alfred F. Jones." Canada growled darkly, gripping the wheel tightly in his hands. America cringed.
"Oh shit." He hissed, plucking Kumajiro up from where he sprawled across three laps to the best of his ability, holding him in front of himself as a shield from Canada's anger. "Save me, Kumajiro!"
"Daddy's been cheating on mommy with an Italy." Kumajiro deadpanned.
Canada and America blinked simultaneously. Then Canada snorted, and they both dissolved into chuckles.
"I swear, you two are insane." He sighed, smiling with exasperated affection at his brother and pet in the rearview mirror. "I don't know which one of you is a worse influence on the other."
"You know you love us, Canada. You can't help it, you dig crazies." America smiled back, nuzzling Kumajiro's fur. "Me and Kuma keep you from getting too sane!"
"I didn't cheat with America." Veneziano offered helpfully. "It must have been brother." In the front seat, Romano banged his head against the dashboard.
"Veneziano."
"Are you alright?" Canada asked, wincing on his behalf.
"We're not actually together." America informed North Italy, deeply amused. "I was just messin' around."
"Ve~, you were just messing around with brother?" Veneziano frowned, confused.
"Chigi! Veneziano!" Romano snapped, turning around in his seat to flail at his brother, who cowered behind Germany (who was busy pretending he wasn't in a car with a bunch of crazy nations). "I wasn't messing around with America, dammit! We were skating, that's all! And America and Canada aren't together, they were just playing a game, you idiot!"
"Ohhh." Veneziano nodded, understanding dawning. "So nothing happened between you and America?"
"No!"
"That's right." America nodded, lips twitching. "I mean, he totally touched my balls, but I didn't like it much."
"That was an accident, dammit! And don't tell him things like that, he'll misunderstand!"
"Romano touched your balls and you didn't like it?" Veneziano asked incredulously, ready to be offended on his brother's behalf.
"Well, he was a little rough."
"Romano's never-"
"I kneed him in the balls by accident, dammit. But if he doesn't shut up I'll do it again, on purpose this time." Romano growled.
"America, stop teasing our guests." Canada scolded mildly.
"Sorry, sorry." America smiled sheepishly, resting his chin on Kumajiro's head. "I got a little carried away. My bad. I'll behave. I'm just excited 'cause it's been a long time since we've had people over for dinner."
"It has." Canada agreed. "So try not to scare them off by being a total spazz, eh?"
Sticking his tongue out at his brother, America turned to his seat companions. "So what brings you guys up Canada-way, anyway?"
"Ve~, well, I had some business in Canada last year, and Germany and I liked it so much here that we decided to take vacation here this year!"
"Th-that's very kind of you." Canada blushed happily. "I'd be happy to show you around if you'd like."
"You should totally take him up on that." America suggested, squeezing Kumajiro's paws. "He'll let you ride his polar bears."
"Ohhh, I want to ride the polar bears!" Veneziano clapped his hands eagerly. "I want to, I do!"
"Is it safe?" Germany wondered, intrigued.
"What could possibly be dangerous about riding a bear?" America grinned. "C'mon, Germany."
"It won't be dangerous if I'm there." Canada reassured him.
"How about it Italy, up for some bear riding?" America asked, leaning over the seat to poke Romano. "You like rides, right?"
"Don't bears eat people?" Romano asked, swatting his hand away. "And don't poke me, asshole!"
"Not if Canada's there! You can ride with me, I'll make sure you don't get eaten, 'kay? You should totally come!"
"Ehh..." Romano hesitated.
"Come on, brother! We can ride the bears together! I want to ride the bears with you, too!" Veneziano pleaded, giving his brother puppy eyes.
"Auugh, dammit, okay! I'll come." Romano caved, unable to withstand his brother's eyes. "But if I get eaten, I'm holding you responsible, dammit." He warned America.
"You won't get eaten, I promise!" America reassured him. "I'll keep you safe. Riding bears is awesome, you'll see!"
"I'm going to die on a bear with a maniac." Groaned Romano, face in his hands.
AN: It ends abruptly, 'cause this is the first half of what was turning into an insanely long chapter, and I need to work on EA and a one-shot while I still have some weekend left.
If there is one thing I have learned from teaching martial arts and...well, any physical activity really, is 1. Don't Pull on Someone Who's Not Ready. Your balls will thank you.
2. Wear a cup.
Some additional notes- Canada! So I was looking up Maple Syrup Festivals, for reasons actually unrelated to this fic, and all the ones I found for Canada were 6 hours long, had a pancake breakfast and maple syrup/tree-related lectures, which sounded interesting to me because I am a nerd but also, kind of boring for a festival. The search also turned up American Maple Syrup Festivals, which almost invariably lasted a few days and often featured things like Reptile Shows, beauty contests, Elvis Impersonators, a series of live bands, hay rides, bonfires, and vast arrays of maple-related foods and drinks and things to eat on sticks, things like that- which also intrigued me, because I am American and know that to have a festival you need to wrestle shit, sing and dance and set something on fire.
Or it's not a festival.
No offense, Canadians. You're still cute as the bloody dickens.
It's canon that Canada cannot remember Kumajiro's name properly.
And bears- it is now my headcanon that the myth about Canadians riding polar bears got started 'cause Canada Rides Polar Bears. Because he is Awesome Like That.