Hetalia=Himaruya: possessive, dative, genetive, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera! (and now I want to watch The King and I. Yul Brynner.)

I actually really ought not to be posting this, but I started it and now I have a problem. Keep it a one-shot, or make it a story?

Anyway. Wizard of Oz parody. Bizarre.


"Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit." Romano's chant was almost a mantra as he ran low over the field, ducking under fences and branches as he went, arms over his head in an attempt to shield himself from the inclement weather. Thunder rolled overhead, vibrating the air and causing him to cower, briefly, in the shelter of a bush, but once it'd faded he leapt up again, continuing his quest. His cursing turned to swearing as fat, silver-dollar raindrops began to fall around him, plopping heavily from the darkened sky, and the wind picked up to whip tree branches and brush and grass, tugging at his clothes and hair. He was half soaked by the time he reached his destination— a small tomato field, the last of a series which he needed to prepare for the unexpected storm.

He darted to the small shed which stood in a corner of the field, hurriedly pulling the tarps and stakes that he would need to protect his crop from the worst of the wind and rain from its depths. He couldn't lose this field, he wouldn't. Holding on fast despite the wind and the rain, he travelled the edge of the rows of tomato plants, hammering the stakes into the ground as he went, hands working rapidly to tie the edges of the tarp securely to the stakes and unfurling the canvas over the top of the tomatoes, to shield them from the rapidly approaching gale-force winds and driving rain.

He couldn't lose these tomatoes. He couldn't.

It'd been a hard year for Italy's tomatoes. He'd already lost half of his crops to a rash of unexpected storms, and a heat wave that'd come out of nowhere early in the season, scorching and withering the tender plants just as they were starting to sprout. The few fields he had left were the survivors, the strongest plants, true, but they'd already been battered and burned and he wasn't sure they could survive another storm, not now, so late in the season, but he was going to do his damned best to get them through. This field was the only one left of his remaining fields that needed to be covered. Once he had these tarps down and tightly fastened, all he could do was wait, and pray, and hope.

At last the last stake was driven and the last corner of the tarp tied fast, and he stood, dripping wet, panting, as he looked over his field. The dirty white surface of the canvas rippled under the wind like choppy seas, but didn't come loose. Good, good. That was good.

A blinding flash of light, and a resounding crack like the breaking bone of some massive god split the sky and he shrieked, dropping the hammer in his hand and fleeing to cower at the bottom of the shed, all courage spent on tomatoes.

He shivered and whimpered and cried as the shed rattled in the wind, huddled under the wooden bench that ran along one side in hopes that it would protect him from the storm. The wind wailed and shrieked, battering at the flimsy wooden structure until he was sure it would collapse. Finally, with a prolonged creeeaaaak as the wood bent under the strain, the shed tilted, rolled, and tumbled as the wind tore it from the ground, carrying it away. Romano shrieked as tools clattered down all around him, narrowly missing him with every turn and tumble. He screamed and screamed until he collapsed from a lack of oxygen, having forgotten to breathe in-between screams.

Where the fuck was America? He thought muzzily, as stars danced before his eyes. His stupid boyfriend should know when he needed him, dammit. Some hero he was.

"Save me already, you stupid bastard." He muttered as his eyes slipped closed, and the blackness of unconsciousness took him.

When he awoke it was still, quiet except for the sound of a bird singing somewhere outside, and shafts of sunlight shone through chinks in the wooden walls of the shed, which had (miraculously) ended up upright and relatively inact. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and groaned, his head and body aching in several places after being tossed around in the shed during its eventful journey. He kicked aside the tools that blocked the door and stood, opening the door and poking his head cautiously outside.

And blinked.

Ugh.

It was so...tacky.

He obviously wasn't in Italy anymore. Bright, gaudy colours met his gaze at every turn. Grass and hedges of such lurid green they were almost flourescent, flowers so insistently, vividly magenta that they burned their images into his iris, so that whenever he blinked he saw negative images of them on the inside of his eyelids; a sky of intense, primary blue— everywhere he looked, any and everything as far as the eye could see was similarly offensive to anyone with even a modicrum of taste or style. The landscape looked like it'd been designed by someone who didn't care how it looked or whether the colors matched, as long as they were bright. Which they were. Oh, how they were. It was revolting.

...It...reminded him of someone, actually. Someone...he frowned, trying to remember, pinching the bridge of his nose when a sharp throb of pain shot through his brain at the effort.

So much for that, then.

"You killed the witch!" A high-pitched voice rang out, making him shriek and jump sideways, banging his elbow on the door. He swore and rubbed it, turning to glare at the source of the voice, only to shrink back again when he encountered its owner: a tall, pale, violet-eyed man whose childlike smile was somehow even more terrifying than his ridiculous height and the ginormous lollipop he carried for no apparent reason, since it couldn't possibly be eaten, being far too big and so psychedelically-coloured that it resembled nothing more than a rainbow on perception-altering substances.

He was almost more afraid of the lollipop than the man, whose pale skin and clothes and hair made him look desperately out of place in this world of vibrant colour.

"Wh-wh-who the fuck are you?" He quavered, ducking behind his door.

"It's rude to ask someone's name without introducing yourself first." The man's voice, soft though it was, made him think uneasily of wind across snowfields, bitterly cold and empty, "But since you killed the witch, I can make allowances for you."

"W-w-what the hell are you talking about, asshole? I d-d-didn't kill an-anybody!"

The man's terrifying smile widened, and he swung his disturbing lolly to point at the shed. He looked to where the man pointed, and saw two stockinged legs, obviously feminine, sticking out from under the shed, lying still and motionless.

Shit. Shit! He'd killed a girl! Well, not him, obviously, it was the shed that'd done it, but it was his shed and he'd been in it, and all of that didn't matter 'cause it was a girl and she needed help!

"Shit!" He threw his shoulder against the side of the shed, straining to lift it off of the woman. "Help me out, asshole! We need to get this off of her! She might be okay if we get it off!"

"No! You can't! Don't do that!" The man crouched down, covering his head and visibly shaking. "She's a very bad witch! She-"

"Brrrotheerrrr..." Came an eerie wail from underneath the shed. "Brooothhheeeerrrrr, let's get—"

"Aiiieee!" Screamed the man, clutching his lollipop to his chest as if it would protect him and screwing his eyes tightly shut. "No! Go away!"

"," an unsettling chant filled the air, growing in volume, accompanied by the sound of nails scraping against wood, as though she was clawing her way out from under the shed.

"Holy shit!" He jumped back as the girl's legs began to writhe, and the shed rattled and rocked. Ducking into one of the lurid bushes, he covered his head and closed his eyes, too, hoping that whatever was going on wouldn't involve him any more than it already had.

There was the sound of shattering wood, and a shrill scream, and silence.

The silence went on for a long time.

After a while, there was a shimmering sound, distant at first, but which slowly grew closer. (Don't ask what was meant by a shimmering sound: it was the sound of a shimmer, the sound a shimmer makes. The sound you get, in fact, when it shimmers. That sound. You know the one.)

He remained in the relative safety of his bush, though, not wanting to be devoured by anything that shimmered. Or anything that didn't, either, but since whatever was making that sound was obviously shimmering, it fell into the former category.

Soon the shimmering died away, and music began to swell. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," sang someone who pronounced their 'r's as if they burned, "and meet the— Bloody hell, what happened here?" (That last part was not sung, of course, being more of an exclamation.)

The music screeched to a halt.

More silence.

After several minutes he peered through a gap in the leaves to see what was going on. Emerald green eyes stared back at him from the other side.

"There you are," Said the owner of the eyes.

"Yiiee!" He screamed, scrabbling backward out of the bush.

"Ah, steady on," whoever it was called after him, "no need to react like that, now. I didn't mean to scare you, I'm terribly sorry. I'm not a bad person, really."

"W-who are you?" He quavered again, from his place on the ground.

"Allow me to introduce myself." A remarkable-looking fellow stepped around the bush, then, and submitted himself to the author's description. He was—

"Hang on, at least let me introduce myself first!" The newcomer interjected rudely.

"Wha— I— that wasn't rude! I simply think I should introduce myself before we launch into the description! It's common courtesy."

The fellow sputtered, completely dismissing the fact that he wasn't even supposed to be in this scene in the first place, and was here on the author's sufferance; as well as the fact that your appearance was generally the first thing a person noticed about you, as shallow as that may sound; and therefore the description really ought to come first.

"Nevertheless, I'd feel more comfortable if I began my introduction with my name, thank you."

But people are more interested in how you look—

"But if you don't give them my name first, how are they supposed to know to whom the description applies? You could be describing anybody."

...There's only two people in this scene, and you're the only one in a bedsheet. I think you're safe.

"W- what!" The man in the bedsheet squawked, flailing his arms in irritation. "Bedsh— This is not a bedsheet! It's a robe."

A robe made from a bedsheet. A child's bedsheet, apparently, because it barely covers your —

"I HARDLY THINK THAT'S RELEVANT." The bushy-eyebrowed man in the too-short bedsheet interrupted loudly, emerald eyes flashing under bushy brows as he blushed a shade of red that clashed horribly with his dirty-dishwater-blond hair, tugging at the bottom of his bedsheet-robe in a futile effort to make it anything approaching a decent article of clothing. "AND THIS IS A DECENT ARTICLE OF CLOTHING! I'm an angel, I'll have you know!"

Please. The only angels who dress like that dance around poles or on laps and expect to have a thong full of dollars by the end of the night. And as far as I can tell you're not even wearing

"SHUT UP!"

And anyway, in this story you're a—

"I'mArthurtheGoodWitch." Arthur, the Good Witch dressed like a stripper said in a rush, crossing his arms with a victorious huff at having trumped the author (shhh). "There. And who might you be, lad?"

"Uh..." Our hero said hesitantly, worried about being in the company of this crazy man in a bedsheet who talked to thin air. "I'm, uh...I'm," he blinked, suddenly worried about more than witches dressed like exotic dancers who argued with voices in their head. He couldn't remember his name. He couldn't remember...anything, except that he'd been in Italy, covering his tomato fields against the storm, and had hidden in the shed...and everything that had happened afterward, but nothing before that. He frowned, struggling to remember...surely he had a name, right? Everybody did. S...Italy?...no, that was where he was from. R..Ro, Rom...a..no, Rome was a place in Italy, right? Probably the town he came from. A...America? That sounded...familiar...but it couldn't be his name, that was a girl's name. He definitely wasn't a girl. Maybe a girl he knew back in Italy? America. Sounded pretty. Anyway, not his name. Oh! "Lovino." That was his name, right? He was pretty sure. "My name's Lovino."

"Well, Lovino." Arthur smiled kindly. "I expect you'd like to go home, hm?"

"Yes." Lovino admitted.

"Well, come with me, then, and we'll see what we can do." Lovino followed Arthur to the rubble of his shed, watching in bemusement as the Good Witch prodded the pile of wood fragments with his wand. "Now, where are they...I know they're in here some— aha!" Arthur siezed upon something in the rubble, and turned to present it to Lovino with a triumphant flourish. "Here you go, lad! Your ticket home!"

Lovino blinked at the objects the Good Witch held. A pair of ruby-red slippers; pumps to be exact, in excellent condition and very stylish, with delicate little buckles and two-inch heels; shoes that he vaguely remembered recently having been attached to the legs of a woman pinned underneath his shed. She must have lost them during her escape.

"There's a transportation charm on them." Arthur explained. "If you put them on, they'll take you wherever you want to go."

Lovino stared at the shoes. "I'm not putting those on." He frowned, turning up his nose. "Those are girls shoes."

"Ah," Arthur paused, and looked down at the shoes he held. "You're right. Not to worry, I can fix that." He added, pulling a star-tipped wand from his clothes and waving it over the slippers, transforming them into a pair of men's wingtips. "There you go."

"I'm still not wearing them." Lovino crossed his arms. Red shoes with the khaki shorts and blue tank top he'd slipped on when he'd run out the door? Not a chance. "They'll clash with what I'm wearing. And anyway, red shoes are tacky." He huffed, pouting a little. "It'll look like I'm wearing tomatoes on my feet."

Arthur's eye twitched. "Fine." He waved his wand again, changing the shoes from ruby (or tomato) red to silver. "There. Is that better?"

Lovino took the shoes, carefully examining them, turning them over and over in his hands. Good craftsmanship, and they were very stylish, but..."Can't you do anything about the heels?" He asked, running a finger over the stubbornly two-inch heels of the silver wingtips, the only feature that had not been transformed.

Frowning in puzzlement, Arthur the Good Witch tapped the heels with his wand. It made an embarrassing fizzling noise, but had no other effect. "I'm afraid not. There's a counter-charm on them, it seems. 'Author's License.'"

Lovino shrugged. He didn't really mind, they were still very nice shoes. He kicked off his old shoes and slipped them on, twisting around to see how they looked and felt. "They're comfortable." He said in surprise, executing a quick series of dance steps to put them through their paces. They were very comfortable, and fit perfectly, hugging his feet like a second skin. Nice. These were going to be a great addition to his wardrobe. And he didn't even have to pay for them! He stopped dancing and put his hands on his hips, looking down at his new shoes in satisfaction.

He even liked the heels. They made him feel taller.

"Nice." He decided. "Thanks, bastard." He tapped his toe. "How do you get the magic to work? I want to go home and show these to...someone." He frowned, trying to remember...

"It's quite simple really," Arthur explained. "all you have to do is put one foot in front of the other, and carry on that way until you get to where you're going."

Lovino stared at him.

"Come on, lad, it's easy." The Good With encouraged, showing him how. "Like this. One foot in front of the other, then again, and so on; and those shoes will carry you wherever you want to go."

"...So these shoes will 'magically' take me where I want to go, by walking." Lovino clarified.

"Well, obviously it's not quite that simple," Arthur said. "I can see how it might appear that way to the uninitiated, but they are magic, after all. The magic of the shoes will take you where you want to go."

"So...the shoes will be doing the walking?" Lovino asked, brows furrowing in confusion. "I don't have to do anything?"

"Well, no," Arthur admitted. "you'll have to, you know, move your legs and feet and so forth, lift the shoes and place them on the ground in an ambulatory fashion, but— look, they're magic, alright? Just trust me on that."

Lovino examined the 'magical' shoes. "Can I run in them?"

"Yes." Arthur beamed, pleased to expound upon the wonders of the slippers. "And hop and skip and anything you might do in a normal pair of shoes, plus magically travel to wherever you want to go."

"By walking."

"They're quite marvelous, really. Very magical." Arthur repeated, just in case Lovino was doubting the slippers' magical qualities.

"Okay." Lovino humoured the madman, who despite being a bit off in the head had nevertheless provided him with a very fine pair of shoes. "I'll let them 'magically transport' me back home. Which way is Italy from here, bastard?"

"I'm afraid I've never heard of Italy." Arthur said apologetically. "I wouldn't have the first idea of where it could be from here."

"...You're kidding."

"Oh! I do know of someone who might know." Arthur brightened. "The Wizard of the Emerald City! You can find him by following that yellow brick road, there." He gestured with his wand, and Lovino turned to see the wide yellow brick pathway that ran across the verdant landscape. "Just follow that road, and it'll take you straight to the Emerald City. The Wizard lives in the only castle in the city. Can't miss it."

"I guess I've got no choice." Lovino muttered, resigning himself to the journey. "The sooner I get out of this technicolor hellhole, the better."

"Well, I must be off." Arthur said, unaware that according to the story he was supposed to bestow a magic charm in the form of a kiss upon Lovino at this point (which was for the best since Lovino would probably not have submitted to such an experience willingly, magic or not), and waved his wand, causing a shimmering pink bubble to expand around him. "Good luck, lad. And remember— follow the yellow brick road!" With that the bubble rose, with the distinct shimmering sound from earlier, and floated off into the distance.

Lovino wondered whether or not he should have told the witch that everyone would see up his bedsheet when he was floating above the landscape in a transparent bubble, but the bubble was too far out of range for Arthur to have heard, anyway, so he decided not to worry about it.

Instead, he turned his attention to the yellow brick road, stretching out ahead of him like a fat, yellow ribbon. "Alright." He announced to the world at large. "Emerald City, here I come."

These shoes were made for walkin', and that's just what they were gonna do.

He hadn't travelled very far when he came upon a field, which would have held little interest for him, being filled with hay rather than tomatoes, if not for the rather odd sight of a scarecrow standing in the middle of it, playing with the crows. Without realising he was doing it, he stopped to watch, moving closer to the fence and leaning against it as he did so. The scarecrow, dressed in tattered old clothes and a floppy old hat, cavorted around the field in a highly energetic fashion, leaping here and there and running back and forth and occasionally waving his arms in the air in apparent excitement, and the crows joined in, for all the world looking as though they were enjoying the experience. Bits of straw fell from inside the scarecrow's clothes from time to time, drifting slowly to the ground, especially when he waved his arms, and when that happened he would grab a handful of hay from the huge round bales standing in the field, stuffing it into his clothes to replace what he'd lost.

After a while the scarecrow seemed to notice him watching, and his movements became, if anything, even more energetic; he tumbled and leapt and performed remarkable acrobatic feats, occasionally glancing sidelong to where Lovino stood, as if to see if his audience was still with him. For his part Lovino became quite caught up in the show, leaning further over the fence and watching with wide eyes, gasping whenever the scarecrow had executed a particularly difficult maneuver, or murmuring in approval at something he found especially impressive.

Eventually the crows took off, unable to keep up with the scarecrow and realising that his attention wasn't on them anymore, anyway. He stopped, then, and waved after them, calling a farewell, and laughed, turning to grin at Lovino. He was very handsome, for a scarecrow, with bright blue eyes and a carefree smile, not that Lovino noticed, of course. He stared back at him for a moment, not because the scarecrow was good-looking or anything, but because it was strange to see one running around like that.

Then the bastard had the audacity to wink at him.

Lovino blushed and looked away, pointedly ignoring him.

"Hello!" Called the scarecrow, whom Lovino was ignoring, and Lovino pretended not to hear.

"Hi," Called the scarecrow again, walking towards him, which Lovino pretended not to notice. "What'cha doin'?"

"My name's Alfred." The scarecrow said cheerfully, coming to stand across the fence from him, and holding out a gloved hand. "What's yours?"

"L-Lovino." Lovino was forced to admit, reluctantly sliding his hand into Alfred's, since the bastard obviously couldn't tell when he was being pointedly ignored. The scarecrow's smile widened.

"Lovino, huh? Cute name!" Alfred enthused, shaking his hand. "It suits you. What brings you by the hayfield?"

"I'm going to the Emerald City." Lovino told him. "I've gotta see a wizard about helping me with something."

"Cool." Alfred decided. "Mind if I come with?"

"I don't know, bastard." Lovino said dubiously. "Why?"

"I dunno." The scarecrow shrugged. "Sounds like fun."

"Well, alright." Lovino conceded. "I guess you can come. Maybe the wizard can give you a brain."

"Hahaha, yeah. Wait, what?"

They travelled together for several days, and as it turned out, it was very good that he'd allowed Alfred to come along. The nights were cooler than Lovino was accustomed to, and his shorts and tank were not up to the task of keeping him warm when the sun dipped below the horizon; but the scarecrow was. He'd discovered that on the first night, when he was shivering in the grass under the tree they'd decided to stop under for the night, and the scarecrow had pulled Lovino on top of him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close, explaining that straw made very good bedding 'cause it was an insulating material. Lovino didn't know about that, but Alfred was warm and snug and Lovino fell asleep almost instantly, drifting off in the middle of a token protest.

"Look, Lovino, look!" Alfred called, high in the branches of a (normally-coloured, thankfully) tree which stood alongside the road, along with many of its fellows; the road having led them through a sort of little wood. He would have called it a forest, except the trees were quite widely and regularly spaced, and had obviously been intentionally planted. It was almost an orchard, except none of the trees were of the fruit-bearing kind. Unless you counted acorns, which he didn't. He glanced up to where Alfred hung off one of the topmost branches of a tree much taller than the others, and frowned.

"Be careful, idiot. You're going to fall." He called, but the scarecrow only grinned.

"No I won't, watch me!" He announced, hauling himself easily up to stand on the branch, reaching for one even higher. Lovino's frown deepened, not that he was worried or anything.

"If you fall, I'm not going to stuff you." He warned, moving closer to the tree. "You're on your own."

"I'll be fine." Alfred dismissed, swinging from the branch. "Are you watching? I'm gonna try someth— hey, what's that?" He twisted around awkwardly, trying to see something through the treetops, when his grip slipped. "Whoops!" He tumbled down through the branches, hitting the ground with a whump.

"Shit!" Lovino swore, racing to his side. "You idiot! I told you!"

"I'm okay!" Alfred announced, sitting up and readjusting his hat. "Just lost a little stuffing. Um, can you help me find it?" After a moment's search, they found his lost bundle of straw stuck in a lower branch.

"Honestly." Lovino fussed as he was stuffing the straw back into place. "There's not a damn brain in your head, you idiot. I told you to be careful. What were you doing, twisting around like that?"

"I saw something through the trees," Alfred explained, "like a metal man. Maybe it's a robot! We should go and see if we can find it! Maybe we can use it. To fight bad guys or something."

"What bad guys?" Lovino wondered, but they wandered off the path anyway, in search of the possible robot.


AN: also. Also! I, er...I...don't remember.