A/N: Hello, all! Sorry for the delay. I've been freaking out about Hetalia being dubbed. I saw the first "episode", and now I'm panicking that I don't have any of their voices in my head. I'm just weird like that.

And please don't accuse me of putting yaoi in here. Think clean, people (well, as clean as you can when France is in the fic).

Aaaand I put historical context in a Hetalia fic, so it is surely the end of the world. Please don't hate on me for inaccuracy; history's never been my forte.

So, read and review?

Greece stepped up to home plate, getting into a noticeably better batting stance than he had the last few times. Japan took note of this, but didn't seem to think much of it; he pitched a plain fastball. Greece pivoted and swung—

—And sent the ball sailing over the back fence.

The outfielders stared. The infielders stared. The baserunners stared.

"…Home run," Switzerland called finally, not sounding quite convinced of the fact himself. "Four more runs for Team America this inning."

While the outfielders, infielders, and baserunners continued to gawk in disbelief, Greece strolled back to the dugout, bat in hand. He approached Turkey.

"Four runs for me." He held the bat out toward his rival. "Your turn."

"Strike three! Three outs for Team America—switch positions!"

Turkey stalked back to the dugout to return his bat and helmet as the rest of his team scattered across the diamond.

"All… right…" Japan, trying to put aside his confusion, looked around his dugout. "Who's left to bat?"

His teammates looked around vacantly.

"Well, the three of us," Lithuania sighed, motioning to himself, Estonia, and Latvia.

"I haven't gone, either!" Italy, apparently immune to puzzlement, piped.

"All right, go ahead, Italy," Japan sanctioned.

Italy, still refusing to wear his batting helmet, waved his bat in the air before taking a loose stance.

Russia wound up and fired off a pitch, but unusually flinched as he did so.

Italy fled from the baseball as usual, and Switzerland called strike one. With a small grunt, Germany lobbed the ball back to the pitcher, who caught it irresolutely.

"Something wrong, commy?" called America.

"No, nothing," Russia assured, rolling his throwing shoulder a few times before rearing up for the next pitch. He hurled the baseball forward, recoiling again—so much that, if Italy had decided to stay put, it would have been a ball instead of a strike.

"You sure nothing's wrong?" America prodded, though he sounded more jeering than caring.

"Sure," Russia hummed, sounding the slightest bit irked.

The catcher tossed the baseball back, and Russia prepared to throw again. He pulled his arm back and flung the ball forward.

As usual, Italy struck out and Switzerland called it, but, not as usual, Russia jerked back, yelping and gripping his shoulder.

"Er—Hey! Are you all right?" called America, sounding conflicted about asking his enemy such a question.

Russia did not reply; he only kept saying "ow" as the umpire came forward to escort him to the dugout. The first baseman looked on, unsure of whether he should be more concerned about losing a player or more focused on taunting his archrival. He ended up just standing there silently as Russia and Switzerland disappeared into the dugout.

After a minute, Switzerland came jogging out alone.

"Well?" America prompted.

"Well…" The umpire sighed. "I offered to go get him some aspirin for a very low price, but he said he had it covered. He took a pretty big bottle of vodka out of his pocket, and, well… I don't think you want him throwing for you anymore."

America stared at the newsbringer blankly for a moment before reacting.

"So I finally get to be pitcher!" he announced excitedly, glancing over at the mound.

"You do realize we won't be able to play with just eight players?" Germany brought up.

"Oh…" This seemed to put a bit of a hamper on America's mood. "Well… Switzerland! How about you play?"

Switzerland blinked. "How am I supposed to ump fairly if I'm playing on one of the teams?"

"But… Somebody has to play for us!" America protested. "I mean, we're in the middle of a game, and… and… There has to be someone who can play!"

"Someone awesome?"

America perked up at the newcomer's voice and looked about to find him. He soon did, spotting a figure springing off the stands and into the field. As the newcomer ran to the infield, America called, "Hey, East!"

"Tch!" the newcomer scoffed, stopping next to the new pitcher. "If that guy—" he pointed over toward a blissfully-oblivious-looking Russia in the dugout—"isn't here to hear it, you're not calling me that."

"Er, 'kay," America responded. "Then what am I supposed to call you…?"

"Prussia," Germany and his brother replied simultaneously.

"All right, let's get the real game started!" America announced, tossing the baseball above him and catching it when it fell down. Prussia, who had already consulted with Switzerland about the playing fee, was positioned on first base, but Japan's team had yet to send out a batter.

"Hey! What's taking you so long?" the first baseman called, glaring at the opponent's full dugout.

"One moment, please!" the other team's pitcher called. Prussia humphed.

"So, you three are the only ones left to bat, correct?" Japan continued.

The Baltics nodded.

"All right, well, one of you, go ahead."

Latvia, Estonia, and Lithuania exchanged glances.

"…Can I just go ahead and surrender my turn again?" Latvia started nervously.

Japan seemed surprised. "Why? Russia's not pitching anymore."

"Yeah?" Latvia looked over to the other dugout, but couldn't see the other country.

"Yes. You might as well try this time."

"But… I'm still playing against his team. Wh-what if he gets angry?"

"Well," England offered, "if the bottle Russia's drinking out of now is the same size as what he carries around normally… He's going to be out of it for the whole game, easily."

"Yeah? You think so?" Latvia still sounded unsure.

"And none of us will tell him if it was one of you three—" Japan gesticulated to the Baltics—"who hit a run."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Well… Okay." Latvia picked up a batting helmet. "I-I'll try, then."

America spun the baseball in his hand as Latvia finally approached home plate.

"All right! You ready for this?" the pitcher called, putting his hand and the baseball behind his glove.

Latvia got into an uncertain batting stance. "Um… Yeah…?"

America reared back a bit and flung the ball to home plate. It hit the catcher's glove before Latvia could blink.

"Strike one."

"Er—" Latvia watched as the ball was tossed back to the pitcher—"s-sorry, I wasn't really ready…"

"Sure," America responded, sounding utterly unconvinced, as he caught the ball. "Are you ready now?"

Latvia's bat bobbed in little circles as he adjusted his grip.

"Yeah."

"Here it comes, then!"

America hurled another pitch, and, before most of anyone knew what was happening, it had collided with the bat and was flying away from home plate.

Latvia stared after the baseball as much as most of the infielders.

"Latvia!" China called. "Run, aru!"

"O-oh! Right!" Latvia started for first while America's team seemed confused as to why the centerfield wasn't going after the ball.

"Did he, like, fall asleep again?" Poland sighed exasperatedly, watching as the ball hit the centerfield grass far away from him.

"Looks like it," Finland called as he hurried over to where the baseball lay.

As Latvia stole first, the Scandinavian finally scooped up the ball, and, after analyzing the situation, threw it toward second.

Poland lunged over to catch the ball, but it fell too short of the base for him to do so. He hurried over to pluck it from the ground as Latvia came up to his base. Riskily, the Baltic country decided to steal. Poland lurched toward his base, but was milliseconds too late. Deciding it was close enough, Poland ran after Latvia ready to tag.

Latvia, though, having run for his life several times because of his residence's proximity to Russia's, easily outpaced the blonde to third, where he decided to stop.

"Safe!" called the umpire. "Latvia hits a triple!"

Poland stalked back over to his base and tossed the baseball back to America.

Canada, meanwhile, considered making a facetious remark about Russia being a better pitcher, but soon realized that it wouldn't be well-received, and, even more likely, no one would hear his comment in the first place.

Japan's team looked around at each other in the dugout.

"Well… Wasn't expecting that," commented England. "I certainly won't complain, though."

"Agreed." Japan turned his gaze toward the two remaining Baltics.

"Which of you wants to bat next?" he continued.

"Well…" Estonia sighed. "I know I'm not very good…"

"Uh, I'll go ahead, then," Lithuania said, picking up his bat.

"Strike one!"

Lithuania readjusted his batting stance a bit as the ball was thrown back to the pitcher. America wound up once more and sent another fastball flying, which the Baltic nation missed again.

"Strike two!"

Lithuania sighed. "Getting off to a great start, aren't we?"

"Agreed!" the first baseman catcalled.

The batter, ignoring Prussia as best he could, prepared himself for the next pitch.

America sent the ball flying toward home plate, and Lithuania swung at it hard. It finally rebounded off the bat, soaring high toward first.

Prussia backed up a few steps, and then suddenly realized the ball was going even further back. Completely disregarding the fact that there was a right fielder, he sprinted onward, running precariously close to the side fence. As the baseball finally descended to a reasonable level, Prussia leaped up, pushed off from the fence diagonally, and snatched the ball in midair. He had fallen the few feet back to ground before Switzerland called the out.

Prussia grinned and propelled the ball back toward the pitcher.

"And that's how the awesome countries do it!"

America whooped.

As Lithuania padded back to the dugout, Germany lifted up his catcher's mask.

"Hey, America," he called. America turned toward the catcher.

"What's up?"

"I was thinking… Since it looks like my brother's got right field pretty well covered, maybe we should switch Finland and Greece. Since… Greece kind of isn't bothering to catch anything."

"Oh. Yeah! Good idea!" America whipped around to face the outfield. "Hey! Finland!"

"Yeah?"

"How about you switch positions with Greece?"

"Okay!"

America turned back around to see Estonia ready to bat.

"All right! We ready to go?"

"Um…" Finland started.

"What?"

"Can someone wake up Greece first?"

"Strike three!"

Estonia shrugged and started back for the dugout.

"That's three outs for Team Japan! Switch positions!"

The players did so, and soon everyone was ready, including America up to bat.

"Fifth inning! Play ball!"

Japan twirled the ball in his fingers for a moment.

"Honestly, I wouldn't mind if someone were to relieve me of pitcher…" he said to himself. "I'm getting too old for this kind of thing." Deciding no one on his team was apt to volunteer, he shook his head and prepared to throw.

The pitch was thrown, and America whipped his bat around quickly. The ball rebounded, soaring off toward left field.

England backed up in anticipation of the baseball, while France, perceiving the ball to be more toward his part of the outfield, did the same.

England took one look at the other nation and stopped in his tracks.

"France! What are you doing?" he shouted. "Put your bloody shirt back on!"

For indeed, somewhere in standing in the very-sunny outfield, France had decided to take off his shirt.

"What?" France responded. "Don't like what you see?"

"No!" England screamed. "Why would I?"

"Tsk, tsk," France tutted. "Loosen up!"

At some point, the two of them had stopped their pursuit of the ball, and neither seemed to notice the other players on their team shouting for them to go pick it up.

"Really, England," France continued, stepping a little closer. "It's so hot out here. Maybe you should take your shirt off, too!" He reached over and grabbed England's shirt collar.

"Wh-What the-! You get your girly-perfumed hands off me!" England screamed, yanking France's arm away.

"Girly?" France gasped, drawing back a little. "I'll have you know the scent I wear is one of the manliest on the planet!"

"What planet do you think you're on?"

"Home run!"

England and France suddenly seemed to remember they were in the middle of a ballgame and turned around. America was trotting past home laughing.

"See what you've done now?" England spat at France, stalking off toward the baseball.

"Oh, you can't blame it entirely on me. You—"

"France!" The European nation flinched at the umpire's sudden shout. "Put your shirt back on, now!"

"But—"

"Get a shirt on your chest or you'll get a bullet in your head!"

France finally decided it wasn't such a bad thing to have one's shirt on in hot weather.