Disclaimer: The universe didn't reward us for updating a week late. It also didn't reward us for getting back on schedule. We still don't own Hetalia.

Chapter Twelve: Carpooling to the Invasion

May 8, 1940
Berlin, Germany

You would think that Germany had learned his lesson last time, but here he was once again, trapped in the car with both Prussia and Austria, early in the morning, on his way to another invasion, this time of France and the Low Countries. Austria had complained, Prussia had whined, Germany had yelled, and in the end, none of them had really gotten their way. In an unfortunately unsuccessful effort to quell any arguments before they began, Germany had decreed that Prussia could have the backseat all to himself, since Austria had occupied it on the way to their previous engagement, and the way back didn't really count, since Prussia had been forced to share it with poor dead Poland, who had bled on the seat all icky-like. Obviously, those had not been Germany's exact words, but you get this gist of it.

Austria was not and had never been a morning person, but Germany knew for sure that Prussia was perfectly capable of popping up as early as necessary, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, when there was a war on, so his little brother couldn't quite fight off the sneaking suspicion that Prussia was just putting up such an obnoxious fuss to annoy his traveling companions. Not that Germany blamed him too much. "Early to bed, early to rise" may have had its merits, but that certainly didn't mean that waking up before the birds didn't suck something awful.

So, Germany had listened to his brother's grievances patiently, if he did say so himself, and then told Prussia that he was just going to have to bring a pillow and sleep in the car, like it or not, but he supposed it was okay if Prussia put his boots up on the back seat, just so long as he was very careful and they were completely clean…

Prussia had thought about it for a minute, called his brother's attempts at reparations pitiful, and gone off in search of the absolute softest pillow in the house, anyway, insistently testing all of them.

Germany was just glad his brother had shut his big mouth for once. Unfortunately, that meant that he had Austria sulking beside him in the passenger's seat, but, hey, one out of two wasn't bad, was it? The blond sighed. Maybe he was just desperate…

"Something wrong?" Austria asked disinterestedly, staring out the window despite having long since lost any curiosity as to what his surroundings held.

Germany briefly wondered whether his grumpy neighbor was bored enough to actually try and make conversation, or if he was just being polite. Deciding to try and break up the awkward silence and take his chances with discussion, he shrugged and said, "Do you want the list?"

"Not particularly," Austria sniffed, adjusting his glasses apathetically. He didn't seem to have anything more to say, so Germany took that to be a gentle push in the "shut up" direction and obliged him. After a few moments, however, the sullen aristocrat spoke up again. "Is it really necessary to invade the Low Countries and France all at once? Couldn't you do this in…stages?"

"Don't look at me. It wasn't my plan," Germany told him, mildly irritated already. "We discussed this, Austria." And you complained about it then, too.

"Why is there noise?" Prussia groaned loudly from behind them both. Germany rolled his eyes and prepared himself to ignore the outburst, but he was forced to change his mind when a pillow came out of nowhere and abruptly smacked him upside the head before doing the same to Austria. Twice.

"Prussia, I'm driving," Germany scolded angrily, becoming even more annoyed. "Are you trying to get us killed before we even get out of the country?"

"No. I'm trying to sleep!" Prussia countered, tucking the pillow back beneath his head. "Not everybody likes to wake up at six in the morning like you, you freak."

"Prussia-," Germany sighed, ready to remind his borderline insufferable big brother that it had most certainly not been his idea to drag anyone out of bed that day, but they had a job to do, so they were just going to have to grin and bear it. Or at least bear it, anyway, no smiling required. However, he didn't get a chance to say any of that, because Austria cut him off.

"Is that my pillow?" everyone's favorite freeloading noble demanded incredulously.

Prussia opened his eyes and grinned maliciously at him. "Maybe."

Germany tapped his fingers exasperatedly on the steering wheel. This may have been doing wonders for his "Prussia is just doing this to annoy the rest of us" theory, but it wasn't so kind towards his budding headache. "Prussia, did you really need-?"

"Just what do you think gave you the right to steal my pillow, Prussia?" Austria demanded, speaking so loudly over Germany that the blond gave up mid-sentence.

"Commandeer," came the sarcastic correction from the backseat. "Besides, I'm pretty sure Germany gave me the right to steal your pillow. It's the softest one in the house, isn't it, bro?" He smacked his brother again. "Here, feel."

"Prussia!"

"You need to learn some restraint, Prussia," Austria growled.

"You want to come back here and teach me?" Prussia asked with a savage grin, sitting up and brandishing Austria's pillow dangerously.

"I will, if you're not careful."

"If I'm not careful? Last I checked, you left your psycho girlfriend at home, so I'd watch what I said if I were you."

"How dare you-!" Germany quickly tried to block Austria's attempt to climb into the back seat and beat an apology out of Prussia, who was currently cracking up laughing, which was only making the situation worse.

"All right, you two!" the blond barked loudly in his no-nonsense voice, trying to get their attention without taking his eyes or hands off of the road or wheel, respectively, for too long. "If you make me pull this car over, believe me, no one will be happy."

Evidently, someone begged to differ. "Well, then I would just walk home," Austria volleyed back, earning a rude snort from Prussia as the two of them tugged back and forth on a pillow that was increasingly likely to rip at any given second.

"Please, you'd get lost before you were out of sight of the car."

Austria gave Prussia what was supposed to be a withering look. Prussia didn't wither in the slightest, but the grumpy noble didn't seem to notice. "I would not."

"You would!"

"I am perfectly capable of-,"

"Just admit it!"

"Stop acting so childish-,"

"Please do, both of you," Germany interjected, hoping to stop the fighting before it escalated any further and one of his passengers ended up dead. Actually, perhaps he ought to stay out of this little tiff after all…

"Stay out of this, West," Prussia retorted, clubbing Austria in the face with his pillow, knocking the brunette back into the passenger's seat where he landed with a rather put-out "Oof!" Out of the corner of his eye, Germany watched Austria adjusting his glasses and contemplating murder for a few moments before he spoke up again.

"Shut up," the blond demanded, abandoning all pretexts of civility. "Or I will knock the both of you out, just to get some peace and quiet."

"We would get to sleep longer…" Prussia mused wickedly.

"Not to mention that he'd have to do all of the fighting by himself," Austria added, apparently warming to the idea.

Germany frowned, beginning to feel slightly desperate. "I'm entirely serious, you two. I will turn this car around, and-,"

"Austria, we're winning!" Prussia burst out, reaching over to cheerfully tug at Mariazell. Austria slapped his hand away before resuming his attempts to reclaim his newly beloved pillow. Prussia jerked it out of his way in the nick of time. "I think it's only fair that you share your stuff, anyway," he drawled, holding the pillow protectively out of his opponent's reach. "Since you're crashing at our place and all."

"It's your brother's house," Austria huffed, visibly irritated at his own inability to recover lost ground.

"Yeah, but I'm family. You're just this awkward appendage hanging off the end…"

"The Anschluss was hardly my idea, if that's what you're suggesting."

"What, you think it was ours, either? Nobody wanted you here!"

"Your boss evidently did."

"Am I supposed to care? Obviously, he'd never met you."

"Why can't you save the fighting for the battlefield?" Germany asked loudly, although not loudly enough. He was beginning to wish that he'd taken Hungary up on her offer to come fight with them instead of leaving her to watch over Poland. She would've been far less annoying and much more useful in a fight than Austria. Still, though, it wouldn't have really been fair to bring someone who wasn't part of the conflict along to the war, and so Germany was stuck with Austria and Prussia. A whiny aristocrat and the most obnoxious Nation the world over, who preferred to act his shoe size instead of his age. Germany sighed; he actually would rather have been stuck in a car with Italy, who would be going on about pasta and surrender, and his southern half, who would be going on about the ninety-nine reasons that Germany sucked so far that day. Germany once again found himself wondering how much trouble he would get in if he dumped his allies at the nearest gas station, or shot them up and threw them in a ditch somewhere. His boss had met Prussia, after all, surely he would understand…

-o-

May 8, 1940
London, England

England stared into his tea as though the answers to all of life's great mysterious swirled around inside of the little porcelain cup. Balanced on one shoulder, pressed up against his cheek, was his telephone, and he was tapping a pen loudly on his bedroom desk. France watched him from where he sat in a chair dragged up against the side of the small table, smiling over his own teacup in amusement as his ally struggled to carry on a conversation with America.

"Have you listened to a word I've said to you?" the island Nation demanded, scowling in frustration. "I am trying to…no, I am not bragging, I…this is significant, you git! Don't you know anything at all about-?" France chuckled aloud and England turned to glare at him. "Oh, hush," he snapped, then said into the phone. "Not you, America—well, why not? You and France can both shut your mouths."

France threw his unoccupied hand into the air. "What did I say?" he asked innocently, attempting to hide his smile and failing, not that it bothered him in the slightest. England pointed dangerously at him—the horror—before returning to what was rapidly devolving into insult warfare.

"Listen," England ordered into the telephone receiver with all the authority he could muster up in spite of the combined irritations that were France and America. "I am at war here, America. The enemy has already made significant progress in his…yes, I suppose if you wanted to call them 'plans for world domination,' you could. What I'm trying to say, though, is that I have…" A surprised smile snuck past his defenses and displayed itself proudly across his features. "Well, yes, I suppose France and I are the…defenders of justice and freedom." France quirked an eyebrow in amusement. "And as the…er, that, we wanted to know how you felt about possibly…yes. Yes, that's what I—what? What? No!" The conversation appeared to change course suddenly as England turned bright red and exploded at the voice on the other end. "No, we will not be your bloody sidekicks! I…be quiet! America, I swear…!"

France put his head down on the desk and laughed until there were tears in his eyes.

England ignored him quite pointedly. "No, you shut up!" he demanded of the North American country. France laughed harder. "You know what? Nobody even asked you how you felt about—that is none of your business, thank you very much! What are you…there is nothing wrong with my cooking; what does that even have to do with this? How dare you-? No, I don't! And do you know what? Coffee is disgusting!" He slammed the phone back onto its hook with so much homicidal force that his ally was surprised that nothing broke.

France tried—and failed—to swallow his smile. "So," he asked with a truly admiral level of seriousness, more than should have been humanly possible under the given circumstances. "How'd it go?"

And, for a moment there, France could've sworn that England was going to actually breathe fire and incinerate his head. "I hate everyone," the particularly unhappy Nation declared loudly, before downing the rest of his only somewhat warm tea in one gulp and dropping his head into his arms in despair.

France patted him supportively on the shoulder. "There, there, Angleterre," he cooed, scooting a little closer to throw his arms around the younger Nation. "Maybe he'll decide to work with Germany instead and we'll get to beat him up," he offered sweetly, nuzzling his increasingly irritated ally.

England said something that sounded suspiciously like, "I hate you and your stupid, ugly French face."

France swatted him on the back of the head. "Be nice, Angleterre. Don't take your little lover's quarrel with America out on me." England's hand shot out before France could even register what was happening, abruptly colliding with the older Nation's chest and shoving him and his chair roughly backwards. Balance completely lost, France soon landed hard on the floor, swearing as he did so. England looked down at him and chuckled viciously.

"That is not funny!" France snapped, getting back to his feet and dusting himself off far more than could possibly be necessary. "You always were a brat, do you know that?"

"And you always were a loser, France." England countered huffily, drawing out the vowels of the insult for a few extra seconds each.

"And you call yourself a gentleman…" France scowled, returning his chair to its previous upright position and making a big show of retaking his seat. "Once a pirate, always an unruly, uncultured little imp, I suppose."

England turned a rather telling shade of pink and once again shoved France in the chest. The chair clattered once more to the ground, taking an utterly shocked European Nation with it. "That's the French for you," the supposed gentleman drawled. "You never learn from your mistakes." This was clearly interpreted as an act of war.

"Why, you…" France growled furiously, kicking the legs of England's chair out from underneath it. England let out a satisfying yelp as he, too, collapsed onto the carpet, sprawling out on his stomach. He spluttered out the beginnings of an insult, but couldn't come up with anything before France drowned him out with his laughter. "And that's the English for you. You can never manage any good counterattacks. All that you have going for you is that 'stiff upper lip'. Isn't that right, mon petit prince?"

England silently reached back up to the surface of his desk, locked his fingers around the handle of his teapot, and then poured its by-now cooled contents right over his ally's head. France let out a miserable wail, immediately attempting to dry his hair and then, failing that, he settled for the next best thing and tackled England, going straight for the throat.

"You just ruined my beautiful clothes and my beautiful hair…!" France yowled, tears beginning to form in his eyes, as he attempted to strangle the Nation he was supposed to be working with.

England roared with laughter, appearing to not even notice France's attempts at revenge. "Your beautiful hair…" he repeated amidst gasps for air that were unlikely to be caused by the hands around his neck. He reached up to wipe a few tears from his own eyes before spluttering out, "Stop it, stop it, France. We're supposed to be on the same side, remember?"

"I'm not the one who attacked viciously and without warning, mon cher." France snapped, relinquishing his evidently ineffective grip anyway. England made a polite effort to stifle the last few chuckles as France crossed his arms and glared. "I'm sure Germany isn't sabotaging his allies, you know."

England sobered up a bit. "Yes, well…there's always Prussia?" he offered weakly.

France shook his head. "Prussia likes war."

"But Austria's there too," England protested.

"You don't think Germany would be stupid enough to send them to the same place, do you? Think, for goodness sake, England." France scolded. England frowned, apparently chastised enough to push himself upright again and give the matter some serious thought. "And we are supposed to be having a strategy meeting."

"Yes, well…" England mumbled sheepishly, obviously disappointed in himself for not maintaining at least the appearance of maturity.

France smirked at him, enjoying the upper hand in their little discussion. "What good will fighting each other do us, hmm?" he demanded. "What are we going to do when Germany attacks us and all we have to show for our war councils is a couple of bruises and an empty teapot? We are at war, England."

"You started it," the island Nation said grumpily. "Nevertheless, you do make a valid point. For once."

France beamed smugly at his ally as he stood his chair upright again and took his rightful place back on his throne. "Perhaps now we can get some actual work done."

"Pipe down!" England retorted, fixing his own chair and setting the recently-emptied teapot back down on the desk. "And just what of value have you contributed to this meeting? All you did was sit there and make disgusting double entendres before America called." They stared at each other for a moment, having both come to the same realization at the same time. There was someone else they could pin the blame for ruining their conference on, it seemed. "Bloody America," England proclaimed loudly.

"He ruins everything," France agreed helpfully as they crossed their arms in frustrated unison.

England sighed. "Really, though. We've got to actually discuss strategy, here, France. Germany and his allies have been living together, for goodness' sake. They've had ample time to come up with something."

France frowned at his empty teacup. "They're probably planning their evil as we speak," he nodded seriously. The statement was a good deal overdramatic, but they both seemed to accept it as a valid description of the circumstances anyway.

"Now that you mention it," England continued slowly. "Prussia and Austria argue all the time. The only way Germany can keep them from killing each other is if they're talking about the war."

France paled. "They must spend every waking moment discussing how to beat us," he gasped, latching right onto the theory and taking it even further.

"I'll bet they have backup plans for their backup plans."

"I bet they've got every inch of the map memorized."

"I'll bet they've anticipated every possible move we can make…"

"And thought of a way to counter it."

England and France stared at each other in self-induced, paranoid terror. "France," England squeaked. "We're going to die."

-o-

May 8, 1940
Potsdam, Germany

Germany pulled over.

"All right," he ordered, furiously. "Everybody out!" The disgruntled Nation wrenched the door to the driver's side of his car open and climbed out onto the roadside grass, tapping his feet as he waited impatiently for his passengers to follow his example. Snickering, obviously more amused than anything, Prussia did as he was told for once, joining Germany on the side of the road with a proud smile that his younger brother was very tempted to smack off of his face. Sighing loudly and theatrically, Austria followed suit, closing the passenger's door behind him and strolling around the front of the vehicle, giving Germany a look that would make passersby assume that the blond was the one inconveniencing him and not the other way around.

"All right," Germany repeated, staring the two of them down. "We're not moving going a centimeter further until we can all agree to act civil in my car."

Prussia elbowed the visibly bored aristocrat in the ribs, pointing out that, "I guess we're going to be late for that invasion, then," in a stage whisper. Germany rolled his eyes.

"I can't walk home from here," Austria noted sourly, earning himself a disappointed frown from the Nation in charge of getting them to their respective battles on time.

"You can't walk home from anywhere," Prussia taunted, rendering it Austria's turn to harness the glower power.

"We're miles out of Berlin by now," he continued haughtily, his expression, turned up nose and all, making it crystal clear that he resented the comment but didn't want to acknowledge it.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about," Germany cut in uselessly. "Prussia, stop bothering Austria. Austria, let him borrow the damn pillow for a little while. Would that really be so hard?"

The two combatants turned on him instantly. "It isn't borrowing if he didn't ask to begin with," the brunette argued savagely. "You both need to learn to be kinder to your guests."

"You're not a guest if nobody wants you here!" Prussia shot back, not missing a beat, mimicking the noble's condescending and scolding tone of voice.

"I believe we discussed this-," Austria began angrily.

"I believe we did," Germany interrupted, not letting him get another flame-fanning word out of his arrogant little mouth. Austria cocked his eyebrows at his foe, an unspoken Your move, Prussia hanging in the air.

"I think we could give it few more minutes on the table," Prussia gave his brother a "stay out of this" glare, hands on his hips, just daring Austria to oblige him.

"In that case-,"

"I am going to run the two of you down with my car if you don't zip your lips right this instant," Germany ordered, having lost his grip on the absolute tippy-tail end of his rope. Prussia and Austria fell silent, glancing at him out of the corners of their eyes.

Germany's older brother frowned and raised his eyebrow worriedly at Austria. You know, I think he just might be serious.

Austria tipped his head to the side. I propose a temporary truce in the interest of avoiding the need to scrub tire tracks off of my coat.

Prussia shrugged slightly. Fine, if you agree not to act so stuck-up and poncy.

Austria released a little sigh. Only if you agree to leave my hair alone.

"Can I keep the pillow?"

"For the remainder of the trip, I suppose that much couldn't hurt."

"Deal?"

"Only if I don't have to shake your hand. I'm certain you haven't washed it."

Germany watched them and wondered what the heck had just happened. Becoming even more bewildered when the two men wordlessly climbed back into the car, he decided that it was better to just go with it before they started arguing again. Honestly, he'd hate to restart the glorious Austro-Prussian War of the Pillow over something as trivial as a, "So you're going to get along now, right?" or an "I'm sorry, but was that some sort of ancient, proto-sign language or something?" No matter how much he wanted to know the answer to both questions.

He joined them in the car, retaking the wheel and pressing gently down on the gas pedal. Silence was golden, he thought happily as a good many miles passed without incident. As they neared nearing the border, however, he began to wrestle with another problem, and when they were getting too close to avoid stirring up trouble, he had no choice but to regretfully break the silence. "Austria, you'll be fighting in the Netherlands." That wasn't the issue.

The aristocrat sighed. "If I must," he said, accepting the assignment despite his obvious dislike of it.

"Prussia, I want you to-,"

"I'm fighting France," Germany's brother cut in loudly from his sprawled position on the back seat, not letting the blond even finish his sentence.

And here was the problem that nobody had wanted to bring up. The elephant in the room, or, for the sake of accuracy, the Mercedes-Benz 170. A gift from his boss and the love of Germany's life, as it were. The country sighed tiredly; he had anticipated this fight. "I know you want to, but our boss wants me to-,"

"Like hell," Prussia snapped, sitting upright, deadly serious, "am I going to miss out on this. No way. Not happening. I'm beating the snot out of that-."

"It's not my plan," Germany reminded him quietly. "But it's the plan, Prussia."

"Screw the plan," Prussia told him authoritatively, crossing his arms.

His brother sighed and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He knew and had known that Prussia would want to take on the European power, but their boss had other ideas, preferring to have the primary Nation in the main fight. He stopped tapping, an idea occurring to him. "Prussia?"

"What?"

Germany winced at the tone; his big brother's mood had deteriorated completely in that quick minute. "Do you remember Rommel?"

There was a pause. "Infantry Attacks. Battle of Longarone. Blue Max. That Rommel?"

"As opposed to?" Austria asked sarcastically as he stared lazily out the window. He was summarily ignored.

"That's the one," Germany confirmed, sensing that he was getting somewhere with this plan of attack. "Would it be so bad if you were fighting with him?" He glanced hopefully over his shoulder.

Prussia gave this serious consideration. "I guess not…" he surrendered eventually, displeasure still evident but noticeably lessened, much to his little brother's relief. Germany certainly hadn't been looking for a fight, but he had been expecting Prussia to pitch much more of a fit. Thank goodness he'd managed to work things out peacefully. Crisis averted; now they could focus on the real war.

"I'll drop you off first, then," the blond said with much more cheer than he'd had in a while.

"Leave my pillow in the car," Austria ordered, sitting up, feeling the need for clarification.

Prussia snorted, obviously planning on doing otherwise. "You know, I don't think I will," he said, breaking out into another evil grin.

Germany's good mood promptly evaporated.

-o-

May 8, 1940
L
ondon, England

England and France had pretty much given up on their strategy meeting, and by given up, I mean they'd smashed the idea to pieces, tossed it out the window, and not given it another thought since. They were much more concerned the absolutely vital task of taking the upcoming war against Germany and blowing it completely out of proportion. Sure, it was a serious matter, but it wasn't the end of the world, which is the direction that France and England's conversation seemed to be headed. The word "apocalypse" hadn't come up yet, but it was only a matter of time.

They knew on some level that the conclusions they were jumping to were getting increasingly unlikely, but they were so busy working themselves into a panic that they didn't quite care, thanks to a combination of nerves, a misguided attempt at trying to cope with the idea of fighting Germany and Prussia again, and the general insanity that tended to happen when two or more Nations were in the same room. Maybe this insane panic was just the natural result of spending a couple decades trying to avoid a war, and then having the war happen despite their best efforts. Who knows? The point is that, for whatever reason, the two of them seemed determined to convince themselves that they had absolutely no chance at victory in the war they were about to fight.

As pre-war encouragement strategies go, it was somewhat lacking in, well, encouragement, and most people probably wouldn't consider this kind of negativity to be a very good idea, but for the aforementioned combination of reasons, France and England didn't seem to realize this. Or maybe they just didn't care.

"They've definitely planned for any move we could possibly come up with," England said, and France nodded in agreement. "And probably a lot of moves we haven't even thought of. Unless a miracle happens, there's no way we're going to win this war!"

"They won't let a miracle happen!" France exclaimed. "They've planned for everything, remember? Anything we do is going to play right into their hands! We're going to lose and they're going to kill us and we're going to die."

Apparently, France and England were not only too distracted to realize that repeatedly insisting that they were going to lose was a bad strategy, they were also too distracted with the prospect of their impending doom to realize that France's last statement had been a little redundant, since getting killed and dying generally go together, and don't actually need to be stated separately. They were also too distracted to realize that maybe if they wanted to avoid getting killed and dying, they should start planning how to avoid losing.

"They could be planning anything, and there's no way we're going to be ready to counter it because they're going to anticipate anything we do to stop them and already have a plan in place to beat us! We can't win this!"

They probably would have gone on like this for the rest of their meeting had they not been interrupted by a car pulling into the driveway. England looked out the window curiously. "My boss is here. Why is…does he seriously not trust us not to kill each other?"

"Well, we did try," France pointed out. "So his concerns might be justified."

England was forced to agree as he led the way downstairs to the front door, and opened it to admit his boss into the house. "Hello, sir," he said. "I'm assuming you didn't trust us not to kill each other."

"Well, I just thought I'd check on the two of you and see how your meeting was going," Churchill said, which pretty much translated as yes, I thought I'd make sure the two of you didn't kill each other, as that would make fighting the war rather difficult.

England and France looked at each other briefly, then back at England's boss. "We're going to die," England stated bluntly. France nodded in agreement.

Churchill looked rather confused by his Nation's assessment of the situation. "What makes you say that?" he asked.

"Germany, Prussia, and Austria have been planning this war obsessively. They've got to have planned out every single move we could make and worked out how to counter it," England explained.

"What makes you think they've been planning the war obsessively?"

"Because they spend every waking moment planning out how to beat us," France stated matter-of-factly.

Oddly enough, Churchill didn't seem all that convinced. "And they're doing this because…?" he asked skeptically.

"Because constantly planning the war is about the only way Prussia and Austria can be in the same house without killing each other," France said.

"And apparently coming up with the absolute worst possible scenario is the only way the two of you can be in the same house without killing each other," Churchill retorted. "You two do recognize that your assessment of the situation is a little far-fetched, right?"

France and England looked at each other. "Well…they are obsessed with revenge for the last war," England tried.

"But if they're anything like you two, they probably do argue while planning the war," Churchill pointed out. "So they probably get about as much accomplished as you seem to have gotten done."

England and France looked away guiltily. "It's not completely our fault we didn't get anything done. America interrupted with a stupid phone call about heroes or some such nonsense," France pointed out, conveniently ignoring the fact that nothing had gotten done before or after that phone call either.

Churchill sighed. "Both of you stop working yourselves into a panic, go back upstairs, and get something accomplished."

"Yes sir," England said, sounding rather like a child who had been sent to complete some sort of horrific, dreaded, end-of-life-as-we-know-it task like dusting or, worse, picking up his toys.

"And you'd better have something to show for this meeting by the end of the day," Churchill added. "Other than unrealistic assessments of Germany's war preparations, I mean."

England and France looked awkwardly at each other. "Right, let's try this again," England sighed.

-o-

May 8, 1940
Near the German-Belgian Border

By the time Germany reached his first stop, he was brainstorming excuses to give his boss for whenever someone found Prussia and Austria's strangled dead bodies on the side of the road, because he was fairly certain that his patience was going to run out within a few more minutes and he was going to snap and murder his allies and leave their bodies in a ditch somewhere. They could walk to the invasion once they woke up. Well, Prussia could walk to the invasion; Austria would more likely try to walk home, fail spectacularly, and somehow end up at Canada's house or some similarly implausible feat that wouldn't surprise Germany in the least. Or, for that matter, upset him in the least; the further away Austria ended up, the longer it would be before Austria and Prussia started another argument.

The excuse he'd settled on as the most likely to work was to claim that France had ambushed them. Heck, it would even give the invasion a great propaganda boost. Strangling Prussia and Austria and leaving their bodies in a ditch somewhere could work out in everyone's favor. Well, everyone except Prussia and Austria, who had given Germany enough of a headache with their bickering that he didn't quite include them in "everyone" anymore. They got to go in their own special category of people to be destroyed for the public good. Or maybe just for the good of anyone who had to deal with Germany, whose patience tended to go down the drain when he had a headache.

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately, depending on your viewpoint) Germany reached his destination before he found a ditch suitable for tossing Prussia and Austria's bodies into. So instead of strangling the two of them, Germany brought the car to a stop, parked it, and started to get out.

"Did we pull over so you can yell at us for arguing again, or are we finally there?" Prussia asked, looking around as he got out the car.

"We're finally here. Get your stuff. Austria, you can either come with us or stay here; we shouldn't be more than a few minutes."

"I'll stay here, then," Austria said, and Germany was just about to start mentally celebrating when Austria changed his mind. "Wait, Prussia, are you…I only said you could keep the pillow for the car ride! You are not taking it with you!"

Prussia, who did indeed have Austria's pillow under one arm as he swung a backpack of equipment over his shoulder, smirked at Austria. "Oh yes I am," he taunted. "Unless you wanna fight me for it."

"You are not fighting over a pillow," Germany tried to interrupt, but Austria and Prussia were having none of it, and proceeded to completely ignore him as Austria lunged at Prussia and Prussia took off running for the other side of the car, laughing his obnoxious, unholy laugh all the way. Germany groaned and tried again as Austria took off after Prussia, demanding the return of his pillow. "Both of you cut it out!" Germany snapped, but was ignored for the second time. He tried to snatch the pillow out of Prussia's hands as the silver-haired Nation bolted past him, but failed, as Prussia had expected such a maneuver and swatted Germany's hand away, then dumped his backpack onto the ground for easier movement. "Prussia!" Germany snapped, but got about as much of a response as his other attempts at ending the Austro-Prussian War of the Pillow had.

"Having problems?" a voice asked from behind him.

Germany groaned. "Well, I drove here with two four year olds, and one of them is my big brother," he answered, as the chase scene devolved into actual combat.

Erwin Rommel looked curiously at Prussia and Austria's battle. "Are they fighting over a pillow?" he asked, looking utterly confused by the scene in front of him.

"Prussia stole it from Austria's room so he could sleep in the car," Germany explained. "They've been fighting like this for the entire car ride, which actually defeated the purpose of bringing Austria's pillow along with them anyway, since neither of them actually slept. And now that we've arrived here, Prussia is insisting that he wants to take the pillow with him to the invasion."

"That's…um…"

"Yeah. I'm looking forward to getting out of here so that they'll be too far away from each other to argue," Germany admitted.

"Which one am I getting?" Rommel asked. Germany got the distinct impression that Rommel was praying that the answer not be Prussia.

"Prussia," Germany said, somewhat apologetically.

"Which of them would that be?"

"Silver hair."

"Oh." Rommel was silent for a few seconds. "Well…he does seem to be winning…" he added, in a sort of let's pretend this cloud has a silver lining way.

"Don't worry, he should settle down once Austria and I leave and he doesn't have anyone else to fight with. You two should actually get along pretty well once Austria's out of the equation. You both seem to think along the same lines in terms of strategy, although you may have to rein in some of his more risky ideas. Oh, and now that I think about it, don't be surprised if he asks for your autograph. He's read your book about a hundred or so times. He's quite a fan."

Rommel did not appear particularly enthusiastic about this news, probably since the fan in question was currently holding both the pillow and Austria's glasses out of the freeloading noble's reach while kicking Austria in the shins as Gilbird flew circles around the two of them, chirping up a storm, which only seemed to be encouraging them.

Germany sighed. "Both of you KNOCK IT OFF," he yelled. Austria and Prussia briefly glanced at him, then went back to their fight, only for Prussia to do a double-take a second later, upon realizing who was standing with Germany. He quickly stopped kicking Austria and handed back the stolen glasses, trying to look at least somewhat more respectable and less childish. Austria took the glasses when Prussia offered them, looking utterly baffled (and more than a little amused) by this sudden change in behavior.

Prussia, meanwhile, hid Austria's pillow behind his back and did his best to look serious. It failed rather spectacularly, however, thanks to the thoroughly awestruck expression on his face.

"Prussia," Germany said, in his best I'm trying to forget the insanity that just happened voice, "this is Erwin Rommel. Rommel, this is my older brother Prussia. I think you two should get along pretty well, since—"

He broke off as Austria tried to take advantage of Prussia's distraction to steal back his pillow. Prussia proved himself less distracted than he'd seemed, and yanked the pillow out of Austria's reach just in time, giving Austria a dirty look in the process.

"Prussia," Germany said in a warning tone. "Put the pillow in the car and get your things."

Prussia, apparently trying to make up for his less than stellar first impression, actually did as he was told without complaining or arguing for once, depositing the pillow in the backseat of the car, swinging his backpack over his shoulder once more, and leaning against the car, trying to look normal and casual and sane.

"Thank you," Germany said, back to his trying to forget the insanity voice. "Austria, are you ready to go?"

"I am now," Austria said, looking rather smug about having won the Austro-Prussian War of the Pillow.

"Good. Well…Rommel, Prussia, good luck. Prussia, behave." Prussia looked rather put-out by this, as he was still trying to undo his disastrous first impression, but in Germany's mind (and probably Austria's too), the warning was entirely necessary. "And hopefully we'll see each other soon."

"Kick France in the balls for me," was Prussia's immediate response. "Seriously. And make sure he knows it's from me."

Germany rolled his eyes, but promised that, should a situation present itself where this was a reasonable thing to do, he would honor Prussia's request. And with that, he and Austria got into the car, and started to drive off.

"Hey, wait a…" Austria began, looking into the backseat. "Germany, hang on."

"What is it?"

"He stole back my pillow!"

"I'm not turning around for that. We're already behind schedule!" Germany said. "I'll buy you a new pillow when we get home, just let him have that one."

"No! It's the principle of the thing. It's my pillow, he stole it, and I want it back."

Germany groaned. "Austria, I'm not turning around so you can get into another fistfight with Prussia over a pillow," he said as a glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that Prussia had in fact stolen Austria's pillow, and he was now holding it under one arm as he waved good-bye. Rommel stood next to him, clearly dreading the prospect of working with this nutjob, and Germany found himself desperately hoping that he was right in his prediction that Prussia would start acting a bit more sane once Austria was out of yelling range.

As the car started around the corner, Germany glanced out the rearview mirror once more and saw that he was probably in luck, or at least something close to it: Prussia had stopped waving good-bye like a grinning, hyperactive weirdo and had turned to Rommel, his body language uncharacteristically awkward, and Germany got the distinct impression that Prussia was in fact asking Rommel for his autograph.


Authors' Note:

Historical Stuff:

- Hey, look, nothing historical happened, so we don't have to write historical notes this time! I mean, everyone already knows who Rommel is, right? The Desert Fox and all that? Good. Then I can just skip to the Authory Stuff.

Authory Stuff:

Vilnius's Note: So, we wrote a chapter that contains pretty much no history whatsoever. But it was fun to write (well, most of it was, at least), and soon the invasion will begin. (Great, now I have to go hunt down The Rommel Papers in the library.) This part of the war has always been fun, so I'm looking forward to it.L

Warsaw's Note: I have this problem where I nickname fictional characters really strange things. It's not my fault; weird stuff just pops out and then it sticks. There's some shows that I haven't called the characters by their real names...ever. Like Crowley from Good Omens is Muffins (which comes from Crowleymuffins, which came from...nowhere) and Crowley from Supernatural is Cupcakes, so they match. And Mycroft from Sherlock is Waffles...and I'm not really sure why. And, somewhat recently, I decided that I was going to actually sit down and watch Merlin the right way, instead of just scattered episodes here and there, and five seconds after we've met Arthur, out of my mouth comes the phrase, "Pop Tarts." You can't call King Arthur friggin' Pop Tarts! It's just not done! What's wrong with me...?

GUYS! GUUUUYS! Remember when we said we were dying of busy and school. Reviews would make it sooo much better. Hey...is it wrong that I can't use the phrase "so much better" without the song from the Legally Blonde musical popping into my head? Yeah, it is, isn't it? ...You can always tell when Warsaw writes the notes, can't you?

Just to let you guys know, by the way: Chapter eleven was from the week before last, when we didn't post anything because we suck. This chapter is, according to our schedule, the one we should've posted yesterday. Yeah, okay, now we're done.