Super speed! Awesome!

I took a bunch of your suggestions and made this. Not my favorite, but not the worst. It's the middle child of the story.

Mew, this is for you!

NOTE! I'm totally not racist, I swear. Last chapter was iffy on Poles and this one is iffy on Chinese. My Mandarin professor talks like that, though, so I copied her speech.

If I owned Hetalia, Russia would snap already and stop the suspense. And France would not exist. My God I hate France...

France, Russia, and a super special guest are next!

The nations crowded around Japan and stared in awe at the camera.

"Really?" America whispered. "You caught him on tape?"

"Hai. Poland-san, he looks so kawaii..."

"Omigawd, show us! Like, right now!"

Spain walked back to the group while Romano changed, rubbing his door-bruised nose. "What's that, guys?"

"Japan was filming Romano," Prussia snickered. "We totally have it on tape!"

Spain's eyes widened in panic. "Delete it! Delete it right now! You people have no idea what he can do, you never, NEVER piss off- oh my God he's cute."

Japan smiled softly as he pressed play on his digital camera. Romano entered the screen in slow motion, dressed in a short red plaid skirt and a light pink halter top with a winking Hello Kitty. His face screamed demonic determination to kill something, anything, and personally watch the life leave its eyes forever. Which was adorable.

The party giggled as he ran in slow motion, arms and legs slowly pumping to get out of the shot.

"Wow," Germany said. "I didn't know it was physically possible for an Italian to move that fast. Feliciano, why can't you run like that during training?"

"Ve!" Italy said happily. "Maybe I should start wearing a skirt when we train so I run faster!"

Germany blushed and Prussia turned to the Italian seriously. "I think you should, Feli. That's probably the best idea you've ever had. I know West would-OW! Quit hitting me, West!"

Germany did not stop hitting his brother.

"Look at those legs," France said, licking his lips.

"Look away from those legs." Spain smacked France over the head.

"But he's so-"

"No."

"Oh, come on."

"I mean it, amigo. Don't even think about it."

"What's pervy-bastard doing now?"

Everyone jumped away from the camera and looked at a freshly macho-fied Romano.

"What's that," Romano pointed at the camera suspiciously.

"Er," Prussia fumbled. "Baseball."

"A whole baseball team," France hurriedly supplied.

"And they're singing," said Spain.

"And the pitcher is, like, crying or something."

"He's out of the season because he wrecked his shoulder."

"But it's totally cool because he was going to take the year off anyway to raise awareness about childhood leukemia."

"Because his daughter was diagnosed two years ago."

"And his wife walked out on him after the kid was born because she was in love with his brother."

"It was so sad!"

"And then a little kid in a wheelchair comes onto the field."

"And she's, like, the cutest thing ever but it's totally sad because she has cancer!"

"So the pitcher gives her a puppy and then she actually stands up-" at this point, everyone was crying at her imaginary plight as America continued- "she stands up from her wheel chair just so she can give him a hug and thank him for everything!"

"And then the bloody oncologist-" England choked back a sob. "He comes out onto the field and tells her on national television that she's cured!"

The nations wiped away tears and sobs and looked at each other in triumph over their skillful composite man-lie.

Romano looked at his nails.

"Sorry," he said, looking up. "I stopped listening after 'baseball.'"

Everyone groaned.

"Ve!" Italy hugged his brother. "I'm so glad you're feeling better!"

"Get off me, idiot."

France chuckled. "Are all Italians so hairy and cute?"

"FRANCE, TRUTH OR DARE."

France paused nervously and looked at Romano, whose eyes seemed to be replaced by pools of unending hatred and death and evil.

"W-why me?"

"Because I hate you."

"Oh... um, then, truth."

Romano smirked. "What are your five favorite things about England?"

"NOOOOOO! Mon ami, have some compassion! That is not a truth, that is a dare! I cannot do it!"

"You heard him, Francis," England smirked and folded his arms over his chest.

"I didn't do for you, limey bastard," Romano snapped at England. "I did it because it's painful for him."

Francis cried out in frustration and pain and England grinned evilly. "I know. It's wonderful, isn't it?"

"Hurry up, France."

"GEH! I l-like how your hair isn't... completely stupid..."

"Doesn't count," England and Romano said in unison.

"Then... his eyebrows look less creepy today."

"No."

"Something about the English channel?"

"Distance is not a compliment, Francis."

"COME ON! Then... England is... sexy?"

America choked on his beer and England nodded in approval. "Go on."

"You're thin, but it works on you because you stay toned. Your skin is perfect. You have this sexy habit of biting your lip when you're trying not to look turned on." Alfred coughed uncomfortably. "You always scowl when you sleep. You have a little tattoo on your- oh, THAT tattoo! I get it now!"

England's face darkened. America perked himself up.

"What? Where!"

"Thank you, Francis. You're done."

"No, Iggy, where is it!"

"France, it's your turn."

America pouted at England and swigged his beer.

Just as France opened his mouth, the apartment door knocked.

England looked at his watch. "That's odd. It's 11:34. Too early to be complaining about noise, but too late for anyone else to join us."

Alfred grabbed a baseball bat and walked to the door slowly, brandishing it like a sword.

England sighed. "Alfred, I hardly think a burglar would knock first."

"It's not for a burglar," America whispered. "It's for-"

"ALFRED, OPEN UP, ARU!"

"GO AWAY, YAO! I HATE YOU!"

Japan paled at the Chinese accent. England sighed.

"You owe him money again?"

"HE OWE ME MONEY STILL!" Yao called through the door. "SO I TAKING OVER YOUR KITCHEN TONIGHT, ARU!"

Alfred groaned and opened the door. "What's wrong with your kitchen?"

"KOREAN ASSHOLE KEEP TELLING ME HIS RECIPE BETTER. I HIT HIM WITH WOK ARU."

Alfred winced and put his fingers in his ears. "Yao! Dude! You're inside now, quit yelling!"

"Where your kitchen, aru?"

Alfred pointed and China picked up a large wooden box and strolled in.

He stopped abruptly when he saw Japan.

"Riben," China said coldly.

"Chugoku-san."

China pointedly stuck his nose in the air and walked into the kitchen.

"So..." started Alfred, trying to break the tension. "What are you making, anyway?"

"I making cake, aru. Hong Kong's birthday coming, and he no like my five thousand year tradition, so he ask for Western cake. Hmph."

England bit back a triumphant smirk.

France walked to the kitchen. "You're not using rice flour, are you?"

"Of course I am," China snapped. "If I make Western cake, I take little bit of China so Hong Kong remember who he is."

"But it's so coarse! To make a proper cake, you must only take the lightest, softest ingredients."

"What you know, France? You good for nothing! Let China do what China do and go eat a moose."

France laughed. "Have you ever tasted mousse?"

China paused his mixing. He looked at France. "The lightest and softest ingredients, you say?"

…

Half an hour later, France and China walked back into the living room to find the nations playing "Never Have I Ever." Prussia was winning. Horribly.

"Yoo-hooo," Prussia called out. "Frenchy-kins!"

"Is he really drunk this time?" Canada asked Germany.

"Yes. Protect your vital regions."

"Francy-pants! Why are you and China covered in flour?"

"Baking," China said hurriedly.

France smirked. "Oui. Lots of... baking."

"Ugh," England said. "You let the frog help you bake?"

"As opposed to you?" Germany smiled. Italy unconsciously huddled closer to him at the memory of his traumatic experience with England's food.

"It's like molesting in my mouth..."

"It's okay, Feliciano. It can't hurt you anymore."

"Hello, China," Russia smiled sweetly.

"Hello, Russia," China smiled sweetly.

"So, uh," America rubbed the back of his neck. "How long are you staying?"

"I wait for the cake. About an hour, right?"

"C'est vrai," France smiled.

Alfred's face fell.

"Well, frog," England sighed. "We were waiting for you. It's your turn."

France grinned at China. "Truth or dare?"

"Don't be stupid, of course I say truth, aru."

"Am I a wonderful baker or what?"

China rolled his eyes. "You too impatient, too messy, you forget important things make the cake rise, you use too much sugar and I tasted better frosting in England."

France looked close to tears and England punched America in the shoulder.

"Ha! See that?" England said. "I told you my food was good!"

America shook his head in disbelief. "Dude. Iggy. Even I got that."

England stared into space and went over the conversation in his head. He blushed.

"Oh! Oh, why, um, thank you, China."

"I no say it good, I just say France is worse, aru. It my turn now?"

"Yeah," America said. "France, go clean the kitchen. Thoroughly."

France sulked off.

"Hm," China said. "Russia, truth or dare?"

"Truth, da."

"Why you always at my house, aru? I keep telling you, knock first!"

Russia smiled sweetly. "I abstain. Let's go to the closet."

"Ah," China said, not perturbed at all. "So you playing by America's rules, aru? Okay."

"China," Spain whispered, panicked. "Don't do it! Bad things happen in the closet with Russia!"

"Omigawd that dress looks fabulous on you."

"China-san," Japan said quietly as Russia stood up and waited at the closet door. "Don't do this. No one deserves that sort of punishment."

China glared at Japan with steely eyes and stood up. He shot Japan a last hate-filled glance and walked into the closet. Russia smiled and followed him in.

…

Two minutes of silence later, China walked out of the closet, fixing his ponytail. "There," he said. "It not as hard as it look."

The nations stared in awe for a second and rushed the closet to see what happened.

Russia was stripped down to his waist, his hands tied above his head with his scarf to the light fixture. There were scratch marks on his chest.

Russia smiled at everyone. "I like him.

Review, ducklings! I love you!