Disclaimer: Hetalia is not owned or created by me...

Acknowledgemenst: Thank you to the following for reviewing, favouriting and alerting this story: EchoTasteLightZim, jinxcat99, EJM513, Blanckary, Herr Benzadrine (great user name by the way), MarauderMoony21, missnoodlechan, Petalnose, RAINBOWwORLD5678, Yami-no-Oujo, THE-complete-zelda-fan, Cathrag, Daughter of the Wise One, Hotel of California, DeviousDragons, Frustration, WinterLake25, JuniperGentle, icantthinkofausername, Beelzineff, PhantomPrussia, Nekolandia flippyanimegirl, Azamiblossom, Waverripple of Team Sunrise, button-pusher, Shrapnelgirl, Dogsrule, Chattie 98, Timisafunsucker, Irishmaid, Becky 999, Pedro-is-Madi12, ZeroLuver567, Lilypad The Fourth, Teh Awesome BeastMODE6 (if I've missed anyone please shout).

Apologies for the lateness of this chapter, been busy, had a bit of writer's block and then hung onto this chapter, editing and re-editing...

Warnings: Crack

Chapter 8 - Doomsday

Oval Office, The White House, Washington DC

The President of the United States, the most powerful man in the world was sat at his desk working late. A sheaf of papers in front of him – problems ranging from the economy to health care to immigration to the looming war in the Middle East.

He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes and was about to reach for his cup of coffee when he remembered he'd sent his secretary out to bring a fresh cup. But that was over half an hour ago. The President glanced at his watch and frowned. He was about to pick up the phone and dial through to the outer office when there was a crash and shouts of alarm from outside.

The heavy wooden door was suddenly hit by something large and bulged inwards – the wood splintering. The head of an axe appeared in the hole.

The President jumped to his feet. Although not a coward, he was afraid for his safety, and that of his family and his staff.

He pressed the red alarm button hurriedly and looked around for a weapon of any kind. The only thing that caught his eye was an elaborate letter-opener with the Presidential seal on it. He clutched it desperately. Whatever was going to come through that door – be they assassins or terrorists - he would fight.

What actually fell through the door – and fall was really the only way to describe the way the four individuals entered the room – did not look like any kind of terrorist or assassin he could ever imagine.

One was a large man with blond braids dressed like a Viking, the other three were all women – one dressed in a white silk robe, her dark hair in a braid around her head and she looked around the office as if they were on a day trip. The other two women were arguing as they fell to the floor.

"Marianne! You bloody tart! You ripped my gown!" a tall woman with auburn hair and startling green eyes shouted at the woman who had fallen on top of her.

"Ah... Britannia... my one and only..." the other woman said, in an outrageous French accent, and pulled herself upright. She wore a simple white dress that seemed to mould to her curves, her vivacious blue eyes sparkled as she took in the President's open-mouthed gaze.

"Who are you? Is there some kind of party going on? Are you in fancy dress?" The President finally found his voice and tried to make it sound authoritative.

The French woman, Marianne, sidled up to the President and smiled, tossing her blond hair back. A smell of Chanel wafted from her.

"Leave him alone you French tart! You've already de-bagged a bunch of secret servicemen! Have you no shame?" the woman who was called Britannia said, and pulled the Frenchwoman back.

The large Viking took charge and embedded his axe in the President's beautifully polished desk.

"That desk belonged to President Johnson!" the President said, utterly appalled.

The dark-haired woman with the white robe, gently placed a hand on the Viking's arm, "Thor, sweetie..." she began to say in a thick Greek accent.

"I know Hellene, but we have to get his attention somehow!" the Viking thundered.

"Listen... if you're looking for the staff party I think it's over in the..." the President began to say, eyeing the axe nervously. He batted away the French woman's wandering hands and kept pressing the red alarm button frantically.

"Ze leetle button is not going work, ah oui! Monsieur Le Presidente... your lovely men in black have been dealt with by us..."

The President looked worried at this. They were talking about his elite Special Services bodyguard. Who were these people, who could disable the best trained bodyguards in the world?

"But... how...?"

"Scones! The most devastating weapon known to man!" Ancient Greece told him.

"... and l'amor!" Marianne told him with a lascivious grin.

Britannia harrumphed about this.

Actually what had happened was this: the Ancients – Thor, Marianne, Britannia and Hellene (the ancient personifications of Norway, France, Britain and Ancient Greece respectively) had slammed their way into the White House, disabled several secret service agents with scones; Marianne had trapped three in a closet and molested them; Thor had slammed two heads together and Hellene, with consummate grace, had just stepped over the bodies.

Thor shoved the startled President back into his chair, took the letter-opener from him, handed it to Britannia and began to talk, leaning rather too closely to the poor American leader as he did so. (The President was thinking to himself 'I bet this never happened to George Washington' –he was wrong – it had.)

"Our kids down there in Little Snoring need our help..." Thor began, his beery breath nearly knocking the American out.

"Your... kids?"

"Ja, at the moment we've sent Rodina, Roma and Germania in, but unless we see some results we'll send in the big guy," Thor continued.

"Rodina, Roma and Germania?" The President repeated, looking completely baffled. Perhaps they were on drugs?

"Nobody wants him involved," Britannia said with a shudder.

"The problem you have with this War..." Thor said, jabbing the American in the chest.

The President flinched back "War? It's not a war... yet..." he began to say.

"Don't interrupt!" Britannia told him, "You youngsters, you always think you know best..."

"It will be a war unless our kids sort it out... this is what happens when Nations are on holiday..." Hellene told him.

The President's eyes widened, "Nations! Alfred! You're..."

"Yes... yes we are," Britannia said with a serious look.

Marianne attempted to straddle the President's knee, "And we are so much more, oh oui!"

"But they were sent there because they were going mad... they were causing so much trouble..." The President began to protest and attempted to shove the Frenchwoman off his knee, she clung to his neck like a limpet, ruffling his hair.

"Ah... I like a man with power, oh oui!" Marianne moaned.

"Well, you have 24 hours or the whole lot blows up in your face," Britannia told him, glaring at Marianne disapprovingly all the while.

"Blow... blow... blows up?" The President stuttered, he didn't like those words at all.

"Exactly, you've been warned, our people down there are on a timetable. About 24 hours from now Little Snoring will be no more... and if you continue to keep our children from their rightful positions..." Thor let the threat remain.

The President frowned. He managed to extricate himself from Marianne's grip and hurriedly stood up to try and exert some authority.

He failed.

Thor was several inches taller than him. Britannia, though small, had a very imposing and stern look on her face, Hellene was no better and looked him up and down as if he were an errant child.

He felt like a child. Alfred F. Jones was always a cheery, if over-talkative man whom the President had got along with quite well, but then again, after advice from previous Presidents, he'd indulged the man with his own fighter jet he could play with.

The other Nations, the President had not had much to do with, although protocol had meant he'd had to meet some of them. He still woke in a cold terrified sweat, clutching his bedsheets after his first meeting with Ivan Braginski. His first meeting with Arthur Kirkland had almost ended the UK-US 'special relationship'.

"No more? Big guy? Listen, the CIA have this all on lock-down, your friends won't be able to do anything..." The President said, trying to sound confident. He didn't feel confident.

Thor waved his axe at him, "We came to warn you, let them go... We can't be responsible for what happens..."

"You don't want to mess with us..." Britannia added.

What remained of the door was shoved aside as six CIA servicemen tumbled in, machine-guns at the ready.

"Oooh! More fresh meat!" Marianne said with utter delight.

"Drop your weapons!" the order came from the lead officer.

Thor shrugged and gripped his axe, no-one, in centuries, had ever taken it from him (apart from some little blond Danish girl in Copenhagen...).

But before Britannia could drop her scones, there came a strange sound.

In a report to their superiors, the CIA would attest to the following events as being 'like something out of an X Files episode'. Some of them argued that it sounded like some large but faulty engine, another that it sounded like a cow giving birth, another that it was like a hundred dishwashers on the final rinse, yet another said that they were reminded of their child's abysmal violin practice.

Whatever the description – it was ear-splittingly loud, everyone had to cover their ears as the room was filled with a blue flashing light as a large rectangular blue wooden box materialised in front of them.

"Good lad!" Britannia yelled. And to everyone's utter astonishment, opened a door and jumped in, pulling her fellow antagonists with her.

The CIA and the President of the United States watched, open-mouthed with astonishment as the blue box shimmered, the air around it seeming to collapse in on itself, the horrid grinding and groaning noise escalated and the thing vanished – taking the 'perpetrators' with it.

The President, after pulling himself together, assuring his security team that he was unharmed, picked up the phone.

"Yes, get me Section Z... tell them I've been visited by some entities who called the Nations 'kids' and that some people called Roma, Rodina and Germania are in..." The President stopped and listened, "You knew about this? You know who they are? Matthew is... oh, I see... but they said they would blow the place up...!" He listened again, "They can't?" he gave a sigh of relief. "So everything's a-okay? It's all covered? A minor lapse? Who? Romania? Who's he?" He listened again and then nodded. "Fine, just deal with it, because we can't let them loose.. I don't care what this mad Viking says..."

Finally, he put the phone down, watched his staff hurry away with the damaged desk, the CIA science investigation team hurried in and began scanning the room with Geiger-counters, attempting to work out how the mysterious blue box had materialised and then gone within a few seconds.

"Phew... another crisis averted," he told his secretary as she handed him a cup of coffee. "I wonder who the 'big guy' is?" he mused.


Little Snoring Police Station

"I didn't do nuffink!" Peter yelled at Officers Kirkland and Jones.

"It's ... I did not do anything, didn't your parents teach you proper English, young man?" Officer Kirkland told him, dipping his rich tea biscuit into his cup of Earl Grey.

Officer Jones leaned across the table, "Artie, I'll be bad cop, you be good cop, okay?"

Arthur sighed and rubbed his blond hair, "This isn't some drugs bust, Alfred... and besides we agreed on the questioning before we came in."

"Ha! What a pair of losers!" Peter said and leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

He was quite enjoying himself, arrested by these two goons for dealing in stolen credit cards and selling illegal Chinese fireworks. His reputation at school would go into the stratosphere.

Outside in the waiting room, Tino and Berwald sat chewing their fingernails.

"He'll have a police record," Tino said sadly, "He'll never go to University..."

Berwald had always doubted that their 'son' would ever go to any higher education establishment anyway, not unless they did a degree in housebreaking. He sighed and held Tino's hand in what he thought was a reassuring manner.

"Guys! Ber... Tino... You gotta hear this!" the speaker was Erik. The young Norwegian bartender from the Axe and the Dwarf skidded into the Police Station reception area.

"Erik? What's wrong? Are you alright? Has that Den person brought dancing girls into his pub again? If he has, we don't want to know, I told him it's a bad idea, a nice respectable little village like this..." Tino began to say.

"No... you, me, him..." Erik pointed at each of them, "I figured it out... I saw the news. We're Nations!" he said breathlessly.

"What on earth?"

"Eh?" Berwald grunted.

"We are Nations! I'm the personification of Norway, you Berwald are Sweden and Tino, you are Finland..." Erik told them, his arms flailing around, his face red. The realisation had hit him like a thunderbolt. How had he not known? His brain was still fuzzy from ... he wasn't sure, but centuries' worth of memories came flooding back - much of it involving trolls, long-ships and dragging a drunken Denmark out of a tavern.

At that moment, the 'interview room' door opened and Arthur, Alfred and Peter stepped out.

"Hahaha! Erik's gone mental!" Alfred yelled.

Arthur clunked him over the head.

Peter, who had heard everything, looked from his 'mum' to his 'dad' and to the Norwegian and then back again.

"Cup of tea, I think and we'll fill in this arrest form," Arthur said, "You, young man," he pointed at Erik, "Should go home and get some rest... you've been spending too much with France... I mean er... Francis... that French wanker... that ..." Arthur twitched, a vein pulsed on his right temple, "Shiver me timbers!" he blurted out.

Erik was about to say something, when suddenly six men in dark suits and sunglasses (who wears sunglasses at night, Alfred later thought, in a remarkable moment of lucidity) burst in, grabbed the young Norwegian and carried him out.

"Humph," Berwald said, standing up.

"Well... I wonder if those men are relatives of Erik? I mean..." Tino began to say.

"Bloody Yanks!" Arthur said, for no reason at all. He had no idea at all why he thought the men would be American.

"I'm Britain!" Peter yelled.

"You're a naughty boy!" Tino told him.

"No! I'm Britain!" Peter said, as he was taken to have his photograph taken for his police record.

"What? Like Captain Britain? Dude, you're a bit small for a superhero," Alfred told him.

"Britain... or England... I wonder... I mean... what on earth can the boy mean? England..." Arthur murmured to himself, suddenly standing stock-still, his right eye twitched and he found he had a sudden urge to sing a sea shanty.

Over at the Axe and the Dwarf, the television had been switched off and Natalia's hen-night was in full swing.

The bride-to-be herself was dressed in her customary blue and white dress, but adorned with tinsel, a balloon and an 'L' plate (the latter was probably unnecessary). Her bridesmaid, Katya, already looked harassed and deeply embarrassed.

The reason for this, was not that her sister wasn't beautiful or pretty – she was, it was because she had beaten all the assembled men at darts, pool and was now embroiled in a drinking game with the small Germanic receptionist who worked for the German doctor, the Danish landlord and the already drunken Spanish kindergarten teacher. And she was winning.

Katya sighed, despite her best efforts, her sister would never be a 'lady'. So she ordered a double vodka and sat herself down to smile at the quiet librarian in the corner.

Eduard Von Bock didn't go out much, he didn't know why he went into the public house that night. He sat quietly with his pint of lager-shandy and looked up to see the large but beautiful (in his eyes) games teacher smiling at him. He checked behind him to make sure she wasn't smiling at someone else and then tentatively smiled back.

"Get that karaoke on!" Feliks said, "I want to sing to my gorgeous Toris!"

Toris hid his head behind a newspaper. Feliks had been over-whelmed with happiness when he found Natalya and Ivan were to be married. For some reason the Polish beautician had been convinced that Ivan had a strange crush on his Lithuanian minion. Toris trembled at the very idea.

At the bar, Natalya had downed her eighth pint of beer, Gilbert had passed out in a pool of beer, Antonio was leaning against his friend and singing a Spanish lament, Matthias was behind the bar, trying to stay upright and serve customers, a large sombrero on his head.

Over at the flat above the florists shop, the unwitting groom-to-be was asleep and snoring on his battered sofa. The springs dug into his back, but that didn't matter as he wore a huge padded winter coat indoors anyway. Ivan clutched an empty vodka bottle in one hand and a piece of bathroom plumbing in the other and dreamed of sunflowers.

He'd not been happy when his beloved CBBC had stopped transmission and he'd slammed his copper pipe on top of the set several times until the BBC News channel had come on. He'd stared at the set in disbelief and horrid memories of soldiers, blood and snow nudged at him. Ivan dealt with this in the way he dealt with anything that upset or angered him - he destroyed it with his pipe. He'd then curled up in a foetal position, drank his vodka and passed out.

Little Raivis snuggled under his Disney duvet and tried to block out the smashing, the growling and finally, the sound of snoring which sounded rather like a freight train was coming through the building.

Over at the police station, Berwald jumped to his feet. Tino, surprised at the suddenness from the large Swede, stared in disbelief.

"S'm'one somewhere's singing ABBA..." Berwald grumbled, a grim look on his face and then added, somewhat oddly, "... Badly." With this last word, he left the building, slamming open the doors like a force of nature.

Matthew Williams, Mayor of Little Snoring, stopped his car outside the pub, patted his polar bear cub and got out. He knew what he had to do, it would be difficult but he could do it... he kept chanting this to himself as he locked his car door. He paused for a moment as a snowflake landed on his arm. He brushed it off, only for it to be replaced by another and then another. He looked up to the night sky to see, to his dismay, a sky full of snow.

To be continued...

Author's Notes: I'm assuming you all know the 'blue box' is the TARDIS? Just a bit of crack in there, from a Dr Who fan – who else would rescue the Ancients?

The 'big guy' will be revealed later... let me know who you think the Ancients would send in?

Next Chapter: what happens when memories return, people waking up in the wrong bed, pirates of the Caribbean (or something), chaos in Little Snoring, and why the President of the United States should have listened to Thor.

Does any other writer have a sudden fear of publishing...? Or is it just me? lol. Feel free as always to review, PM, comment etc. Thank you for your patience.