I own absolutely nothing, just my imagination, Allie, and Eric. All translations come from Google Translate (and a few other websites I had to use when Translate fucked up really badly. Like I don't even know Italian, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't correct).
Enjoy!
Canadian Pancakes
"Love?" I hummed non-committally in response. Wow calculus was a bitch. Fuck maths. Math is awful. Why do I have to do it? Why did I decide to torture myself this way? Honestly, I regret letting my father talk me into this. "It seems we're out of tea."
...great. Just great. "At least tell me we're not out of hot chocolate," I spun around in the chair to watch the blonde poke through the cupboard, and then shake his head. "Oh my god," I groaned, sagging visibly. It looked like I was going to have to go shopping. Again. Cooking for a bunch of units (why were they eating? Weren't they robots? Would they die if I didn't feed them?) was expensive. I was just glad they all had jobs.
The chair beside me shifted, and the Englishman dropped down beside me. "What are you working on?"
"Calculus," I replied from where my face was buried in my arms. "But I'm stuck and goddammit I hate this subject with my life."
Arthur hummed quietly from beside me, sounding equal parts amused and sympathetic. "Can't Eric help you?" I shook my head. Eric didn't mind math, but he wasn't incredibly good at it. He was average, that's what I'd say. "Then, why don't you call America?"
Wait, what? I sat up and blinked at England several times in confusion. America? England wanted me to ask America for help? "Believe it or not, the wanker is actually quite bright when it comes to these things," he grimaced, and then shrugged. "Your best bet would be Japan, but he's not here yet."
"I like how you said yet," I gathered my books. "Wanna go shopping with me after I'm done? We'll stock up on tea and stuff." Maybe I should re-check the fridge and see what we needed. I'd have to ask the other units too. Spain would definitely want me to stock up on tomatoes. Maybe I'd give him that empty patch of earth in the backyard for a tomato garden.
And then when Romano appears, they can spend time together doing Spamano things...
Right, Calculus, that's a thing. I stroked Italy's cheek as I passed by the couch. The little pasta-lover was taking a siesta. It seemed a bit early for that, but whatever. The BTT were somewhere doing...something, I wasn't about to ask. Russia was in his room. I should go check on him, as soon as I find America and solve this ridiculous work.
"Eric, have you seen America?" I asked my potato of an older brother from where he was watching some historical documentary on tanks used in World War II and taking notes. He grunted, which I took to mean no Allie, I haven't seen your self-appointed hero. I sighed and kept looking. "Oi, Alfred! America! My hero!"
I paused in the dining room and frowned, and then yelped when arms came around and picked me up like I weighed nothing. "Oh my god, could you not?" I whined, glaring down at the person I'd been searching for. This was getting annoying. Was I really that light? I was short, yeah, but was I really so easy to manhandle or were America and Russia just strong?
"Sorry sidekick," he grinned. "I couldn't help it. You're so tiny dude!"
"DON'T CALL ME TINY!" He laughed more at my flailing, and I chose to pout at him. "Could you put me down? I wanted you to help me with my math work."
"Sure thing Allie," he lowered me to the ground, and held out a hand for my paper. "Lemme see here...ah!"
Okay, so it turned out that England hadn't been kidding. I suppose America being good at math was to be expected, considering our history of inventing shit. "Thank you!" I beamed. "By the way, I'm going grocery shopping with England, you want anything specific?"
"...can I have Marvel-themed cereal?"
"Yes."
"YOU'RE THE BEST!"
Okay so marvel-themed cereal, I added it to the mental list in my head. No, wait, mental lists were bad. I quickly tore a page out of my notebook and scribbled it down. Okay, now where are those troublemakers...? I turned a corner and nearly barrelled right into France. "Je suis désolé ma chere," he apologised quickly.
"C'est bon," I slipped into French unconsciously. What? You don't learn a language for 14 years and not have it affect you in some way. "Where are Prussia and Spain?" I had expected them to be together.
The Frenchman sighed one of those particularly French sighs, the ones usually reserved for when someone does something really stupid. "It seems mes amis challenged each other to a drinking game with la bière de ton frère."
I blinked several times. One, Eric was not going to be pleased. I quickly added buy more beer to the list. Two, it was 2 in the afternoon, who decided to drink at this time? "And...they're not drunk?" I had to ask. What did alcohol even do to a unit's system? I would have to consult the manual.
Francis shrugged again and smiled. "Prussia is fine. At this point, he is probably about 90% beer." I giggled at that, because it seemed incredibly plausible. "But enough about them, mon chou. You were looking for me, non?"
Whipped cream, maple syrup, confectioner's sugar, tomatoes (for Spain) and more beer (for Prussia).
Russia hadn't wanted anything, though he did ask be if he could walk me home from class tomorrow, seeing as he got off early for some reason. I told him yes, because yeah, why not?
Italy was just waking up when I returned downstairs. "Ve, sorella, buon pomeriggio," he said around a yawn. "Dove stai andando?" Something I'd discovered was that, immediately after waking up, Feli would lapse back into Italian. While I wasn't at all sure what he'd said, I took a wild guess anyway.
"England and I are going grocery shopping," I walked over to him and didn't blink when he wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his face in my stomach. "You want anything?" I asked as I patted him on the back. "Pasta? Tomato sauce? Art supplies?"
"...potremmo ottenere linguine?"
Linguine. Linguini. He wanted pasta. "Okay. We should be back soon. Don't let Prussia in the kitchen unless Spain or France are with him. Actually no, not even then."
He yawned into my shirt and used me to stand up, still leaning on me. It was difficult to tell how awake he was, considering how his eyes were almost always shut, but he was still speaking Italian in that mumble-y voice, so he was probably still mildly out of it. "Si," he said, and then he pecked me on the cheek and ambled away in the direction of the kitchen.
"England, are you ready?" I called out, and then I waited for the Englishman to appear. He was dressed in a classy, casual manner, as he usually dressed around the house: a casual black and white, ¾-length sleeved top, black slacks, and black shoes.
As I'd expected, he turned a few heads as we walked down the street. And even more when we got to the store. If there's one thing Americans love, it's a British accent. I don't know why, but it just does it for us.
"I'm surprised," he commented as we debated over tea brands and types. "There's quite a good selection here," his fingers closed around a box of Earl Grey, and then a box of English Breakfast. I threw in a box of Lady Grey for two reasons: one, it is freaking delicious. Two, I love the name. Can you imagine being a Victorian lady in your tea parlour sipping tea from a pretty teacup?
You know, sometimes I think I'd love to have lived in that century, but then I remember the racism, and sexism, and disease, and war, and pretty much how awful it was...and then I think you know what? Never mind.
Still, history is incredibly fascinating to learn about. Every century and decade had really cool aesthetics. I was awaked from my thoughts when I noticed a group of girls had sidled closer to us, and were giggling amongst themselves. Alright, either these were fangirls who had spotted this England/Arthur Kirkland-lookalike and were internally freaking out, or just normal girls with normal social lives and sleep schedules that weren't fucked up, who'd just seen an attractive Brit and were freaking out over that.
After some more giggling, one of them ejected herself from the group and made her way towards Arthur (who was still debating more tea choices). "Um, excuse me?" I hovered behind Arthur quietly. "But could my friends and I get a picture with you?"
...okay, so it turns out they were just normal girls. Too bad, or good. The last thing I needed was a bunch of crazy fangirls discovering I had the entire Hetalia cast living in my house. That would be bad. "Americans can rather presumptuous," he commented as we paid for our stuff at one of the self-checkout counters.
"It's a country trait," I shrugged. "Besides it...oh fuck."
"What?" But I wasn't looking at the Englishman, I was staring at the truck in front of the house. "Is that...?"
I was torn between being excited, and being mildly exasperated. How many was I going to get? How were these units manufactured? How expensive was it to manufacture them? WAS I GOING TO HAVE TO PAY FOR THIS AT SOME POINT?! "Oh, hi Alexandra!" Shawn waved at me from where he was unloading a crate, though I really wasn't looking at him much.
England on the other hand, wasn't focused on that. "Is that...a Flying Mint Bunny hat?" He was staring at the hat on top of Shawn's head, which I'd never noticed before, and which was really quite cute now that I thought about it.
"Huh?" Shawn handed me the signing-pad, which I signed rather aggressively, and then he handed me the standard manila envelope. "Oh, yeah. All the delivery people get a bunch in case something happens."
Arthur was still staring at the hat with an expression that looked disturbingly like awed adoration. "Can I...?"
I blinked and looked from Arthur, to Shawn, the hat, to Arthur, and then Shawn again, and then I sighed. "Alright, give him the hat."
"What?"
"GIVE HIM THE HAT!" Shawn squeaked and handed over the mint-green, bunny hat, and then drove away in his truck, while Arthur grinned like a child with a new toy, which was also pretty cute. "Well, now that that's done, can we get this into the house?"
America and Russia got into an argument while competing over who was stronger than the other while carrying the crate, but I tuned them out. "Ve~?" Feli appeared behind me, and draped his arms around my neck. "Who is that?"
"I have no idea, give me a moment," I flipped open the envelope to reveal a red and white manual.
Congratulations, you are now the proud owner of a MATTHEW WILLIAMS Hetalia Unit!
YES, WE GOT MY BABY CANADIAN! I resisted the urge to whoop in joy, but I did squeal very quietly so that I sounded like a very excited kitten. "We got Canada!"
"Who?" Figures, I rolled my eyes and flipped open the manual. Alright, methods of opening. Let's see...Canadian anthem, speak French, cook French and/or Canadian food...I'm not playing Justin Bieber. I can't do that to myself, plus Eric would kill me...what does Lady Gaga have to do with anything? Ice hockey? And Kuma-whatnot unit.
Alright, I think I got this. I snapped the manual shut and sidled over to the crate. "Um, bonjour Matthew!" I spoke loudly. France perked up, as he always did whenever I spoke French. However, I think this time he was more interested in the mentioned unit. "Ca va?"
I had to listen really carefully before I heard a response. "Bonjour," a quiet voice came from the box. "Pourriez-vous m'aider, veuillez?" I grabbed the hammer, and then gave myself a quick pep-talk as I unhooked the nails. Okay Allie, pay attention. This is Canada. Yes he is adorable and sweet and so ignored, but remember to be calm. Do not squeal, tackle, or attempt to-! "Ah," an adorable face with sweet lilac eyes and a small smile came into view. "Merci."
"CANADA!" I tackle-glomped him, sending both of us to the ground. "OH MY FLIPPING ICE CREAM YOU'RE SO CUTE!" Well, there goes my inner pep-talk. I whined when a hand grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and dragged me away. "Eric, no! I'm not done cuddling him, dammit!"
He sighed and addressed Canada. "Hello, you look sufficiently non-threatening. I am Eric Clare, and the woman who was hugging you is my twin sister, Alexandra. Don't mind her, she does that to everything she considers cute."
America pouted. "Hey, you didn't hug me!" He whined. "Does that mean I'm not cute?"
I stared at him blankly. "You guys are cute in a different way." Eric rolled his eyes and released me, and I promptly went back to hugging Canada. "Please just let me do this. I'm normally really calm," I snuggled into his hair. He smelled like maple syrup. "I'm Alexandra Clare, but you can call me anything non-insulting!"
"I-I'm Canada," he stuttered, and I couldn't help smiling. He really wasn't used to receiving so much attention. I leaned up and kissed the side of his head – and this was probably a result of how excited I was and the number of endorphins flooding my system – and grinned when he blushed. "T-thank you..."
"Okay," Eric grabbed me and yanked me away for the second time. "I think that's enough unit-bonding time! Antonio, watch my sister!" I pouted but walked over to sit beside the Spaniard on the couch. "Alright, Matthew, since Allie and I really can't be expected to provide for all you units, you guys need to get jobs. It says here you can be a," he glanced down at the manual. "Secret agent?"
Alfred jumped in before anyone could say anything. "Hell yeah, that would be so cool dude! You could get, like, cool spy stuff and gadgets, and-!"
"We're not handing him over to the CIA, Alfred," I cut him off. "Besides, spies don't always do fun stuff like you see in movies. Most of the time they just do paperwork. Next."
"Always gotta be so realistic," Eric rolled his eyes. "He can also be a blackmaile-! France, how did you get here?" The Frenchman had somehow managed to appear in front of us, and was cuddling Canada while cooing in French about how adorable his little Matthieu was.
Because France was sort of like Matthew's father-figure, and because the Canadian didn't look particularly annoyed and/or terrified by the incessant hugging, I decided not to intervene. Ah well, we'd figure this out later.
Translations
Je suis désolé ma chere: (French) I am sorry my dear
La bière de ton frère:(French) Your brother's beer
Sorella, buon pomeriggio: (Italian) Sister, good afternoon
Dove stai andando?: (Italian) Where are you going?
Potremmo ottenere linguine?: (Italian) Can we get linguini?
Pourriez-vous m'aider, veuillez?: (French) Could you help me out, please?
