A/N: That auction on Dog Wars I mentioned back in chapter... whatever still isn't done. Grr. (Edit: Now that I've posted, it is. Not that anyone cares lol.)

I posted 'cause I finished it. Now I don't have to give you another one today! Haha! (Thought I'd finish before midnight, apparently not, lol.)

Disclaimer: I don't own Dog Wars, Jimmy Buffett, Airplane, Cinnabon, and Hetalia. Sigh. It's like a non-accomplishment list.

Warning! It's a big pretty white plane with red stripes, curtains in the windows, and wheels, and it looks like a big Tylenol! Human OCs, awesome!Prussia, ship sinking, her name is Hildegard, excessive dialogue as per usual, less learning than usual, onhonhon, and awesomeness!

Chapter Nine

My dad didn't come back the next day, or the day after that, or the next week, even. That wasn't too uncommon with his work. But Prussia didn't know that, and he seemed a bit anxious that my dad could return at any moment.

Finally, he asked me two weeks later, "What the hell does your dad do?"

"Things," I said vaguely. Prussia was unimpressed with my vagueness, so I got less vague. "Government work."

That made him relax. "Oh, I see. He's a spy," he said.

How did he... "What? No!" I said. No one was supposed to know that! I wasn't supposed to know! My mom didn't even know!

"Please. Every country has them. I sort of figured he was a government employee before, or else I wouldn't have asked about America. But the fact that he knows America makes a lot more sense now."

I kept shaking my head insistently.

"He's not a politician, is he?"

I kept shaking my head.

"Didn't think so. Doesn't have the necessary slime."

"Thanks, I think. But he's not a spy!"

"Sure he's not," he said. "He's not if I can have a beer, anyway." Prussia held out his hand expectantly.

My eyes narrowed. "Remember what happened last time?"

He thought about it for a moment. I had only let him get more booze once since the day after my birthday, and I had not let him go again since.

"Ja, I do," he said quickly. "But let's compare: Vati's a spy, or the awesome Prussia gets a beer."

"No," I said. "No, fine. My dad's a... a spy. But no one else knows, okay? No. One."

"You just don't want me to have any alcohol," he said with a pout.

"Yeah, sounds about right. It's less admitting who my dad is or you getting alcohol than me admitting something you've already figured out or you... passing out and being worrisome," I said.

"Whatever. The point is, you want to keep me away from my beer. That's fine. Where's your mom?"

I glared at him. "Miami."

He blinked; he probably hadn't expected me to answer. "Your whatty?"

"It's a city. Miami. South east of here."

(For those among us who can't pronounce words, Miami is pronounced myammee. I hope I just ruined this joke for you.)

"Why aren't you with her then?"

"I will be in two weeks, for Christmas, and if we haven't figured out how to get you back by then, so will you." He was frowning. "What?"

"First, that answer is completely inadequate. Second, I never said I wanted to go back yet. Not even once."

I thought back. I guessed he hadn't, so I didn't comment on it. "My parents are divorced and my mom is a fisherman. Happy now?"

"Sure! That means she has booze, right?"

"Why would you think that?" I said as evenly as I could. She did, of course, but did Prussia really have to somehow know that?

"My sixth sense is booze, that's why! Kesesese."

Two weeks later, we wandered about the Tampa International Airport, because I did not have a car. My mom had mailed me the tickets.

I couldn't tell you exactly what happened in the food court, because I still can't remember, it happened so fast. I know it was rude (really mean, in fact) and completely uncalled for, and Prussia almost beat the girl up. I distracted him by shoving my bag toward him and hoping my voice wouldn't crack. "Hold this for a second, please?"

"Uh, sure? If it's only a second, I guess," he said. "Whyyy?"

"I... I got something in my eye," I said.

He grinned and opened my bag. He rearranged my stuff like he had some sort of OCD. I'd never be able to find anything. "If that's all, fine. It's probably my fault anyway. My awesome tends to throw itself toward poor, less-awesome people... when I don't first."

"Shut up," I said. That was too close to being snappish, so I turned away and stalked toward a water fountain by the bathroom, rubbing my eyes.

"What? You don't want to hear my sexy voice?"

"Yes. Be quiet for a minute, please," I said, and got a drink.

He made a face but only managed to stay quiet for about ten seconds. "But why?"

I frowned. "Give my stuff back," I said, holding out my arms. He backed away.

"Nein. Tell me. It's my hostage until you tell me why you are being unawesome."

I glared at him. "I told you, there was something in my eye, and I got it out, so now I'm fine. Give me my stuff back."

"Nein."

"Yes."

"Nein!"

"Yes."

"Nein! Tell me!" He held my bag behind his back where he thought I couldn't reach it.

"It's not," I said, lunging for and grasping a strap, "Important. Just something stupid. I'm all right." Stupid girls are not important. He probably already knew that, anyway.

"Fine, don't tell me," he said, crossing his arms once he finally gave me my bag. "Even though I wouldn't tell anyone since I'm awesome like that."

Guilting me would never work. Ever. I ignored him. So we went to Cinnabon. Why? Because Prussia said, after but a half-minute of silence, that he wanted to sleep the whole trip.

"It's only an hour."

"But I hate flying! And I like sleeping!"

Well, I couldn't argue against that.

He took his giant cinnamon roll and we sat out in the food court. Prussia swayed in the uncomfortable cast-iron chair dramatically (mimicking Emma, if I recall correctly), then said, "I have five meters."

"Uh. And how much is that?"

He frowned through a mouthful of cinnabon. "What do you mean, how much is that?"

"We use the US Customary System around here, y'know."

Prussia shrugged... then grinned somewhat maniacally. "Hours and hours and hours, chicky."

I laughed. "I'll just suffer through without, then."

"Your loss, not mine."

He ripped off a piece and offered it to me. I shook my head, and he frowned.

"You haven't eaten anything since yesterday," he said.

"Yeah, well, it's almost Christmas, there are a million people here, and we're going to Miami. I don't think I could physically handle any food."

"Weakling."

"Yeah..."

"You know I would punch anyone who tried to attack you, right?"

"Yeah. Doesn't make me feel better."

Ohmahkey

"Bonjour? Allemagne?"

"Ja. I... You know how there is a country north of America?"

"Vous voulez dire que le Canada?"

Germany turned to Italy, who had woken up upon hearing France's voice. "Does Canada sound right?"

"Uh, ve... I guess..." He appeared to have no idea what was going on.

"Il arrivé quelque chose?" France asked.

"Britannien sent Prussia to America's Florida."

Germany assumed France was drinking wine as he heard him do a spit take.

"Floride?" He laughed. "He would! Ha! America's dick! Haha!"

"Ja... anyway... Could you call... um... for me, or give me his number, so that I may request that he find my bruder?"

"Je vais l'appeler. Vous oublierez."

"Probably," he said sheepishly.

"Do you know the exact location of your bruder?"

"I believe the UK said he was near a city called Tampa."

"Bon, I shall call him. Do not fret at all. Your bruder will be very well taken care of."

"I do not like that wording-" But Germany was, once again, hung up on.

"France and Prussia are friends, though, right?" Italy said.

"I don't know any more."

"Big brother France wouldn't shoot him or anything."

"That's... not what I was concerned about," he said vaguely. "I'm more concerned that they are friends..."

Italy and his sheer obliviousness, however, had no idea what he meant.

A/N, the square root edition: I have nothing to say to this. xD Mostly because I have no idea what I'm going to do with this chapter.

It must be pretty trippy to read this chapter, and then read about me wondering what I should do with this chapter. Is that irony? That's a rhetorical question because I don't really care. But answer it if you want, 'cause I seriously don't know.

Is this the second to last chapter? Hell if I know. This may never end. I wrote this A/N at 1:47 AM on 2.4.011. I am so classy.

Translations:

Bonjour? Allemagne? Hello? Germany?

Vous voulez dire que le Canada? You mean Canada?

Il arrivé quelque chose? Did something happen?

Floride? Florida?

Je vais l'appeler. Vous oublierez. I shall do it. You'll forget.

Why Tampa? 'Cause it's 19% Hispanic, 9% German, and 2% French there, that's why. It's not just because I live near there. Nooo. Of course not. Go Lightning! 8D lolol lightning suck last I checked. So do the Rays. So do the Bucs. Hahaha... I'm a writer, not a sports-watcher. So yeah! kthxbai