Acknowledgements: thank you to the following for reviews/favourites/alerts/ PMs: LineDestin3, NayanWeavile, Flyawayboli, MehMehKitty666, Bluefire98, Fancyeezus, Hotoke, Harlequin Shadow, Sincia, Purasuchikku, MimiMeo, AmethystHazelEyes, 0XDesertSkiesX0, B-RabbitYoungGilbert, JillianeRuth, natalka0895, Obsessed Fanboy, jennythegreatness, Pawpad101, WhackuOtaku, Ookpik, Betsybugaboo, insertcreativeusernames, Redbearskin, krysta25uk, Coco Da Cat, PeaceChan09, homestuck12, Yui-kun12, Andurian, MareenaMoon, Elementrix1942, FriendlyAmigo, AstersandAlyssum, Historyman14, Syntax-N, Elizabeth-Christine of Nowhere, Shipwreckedsouls, HopefulHeart108, Friendly Amigo, ElyArt01, Ace-Phantom69, Crazy004, icycle, Chrysanthemum19, FiannaRain, Taleof2hippies, everythingisdragons, Arrowfeet, Sailormoon1999, Horonigai, Sweetiepie13, RebelKinslayer, gingakita, luzhu, Phoenixlegend, Star2301, Eaglesfeather17, ihateslash604, , nenepasta, Spaceland, kamilix, Fryingpangirl, Tonhalszendvics, Dalek-caan19, Bluesky1201, Stormshadow3, XxCrispixX, CheesecakeKitty15, SassyPantsJaxon, EllaAwkward, RosesforEveryone, SansSoucis, Kattie (Guest), Ivyflight, Taranodongirl1, Liquers, Pheonixlegend, ES1776, tsundere-cat-type, Kenzeira, Hinabi, Probablysomebody, Junior Chief, TelosKoritsi13, RebelsAdvocate,, Monskuuti, Zeawesomepasta, Woody569Gamecraft, datteroflucifer, rowerlovesastronomy, browsofglory, imiregretsnothing, icococandy, GalaxyGirlEm, gnomiegnome, itsalwaysbeme, Sarite, weirdonamedbrie, the Oracle of Akemi, CriticalThinking, RebelsAdvocate, eleanoralovesananias, TheMoonRaven, RoseRune, aphDadmark, Still a Lover of Franchises, Deciduous Forest 208, Yu-Gi-Oh Trekkie 99, RaptureChamber, StealthSage, yukia9tendo, Mondmaedchen, Bayboo20, England 2410, mossflower1234, ChildoftheMoon86, Gwen-Van-Well, The Silent Lilac, Supergrassaysyaaasss, Azmine Junet, febrezedtrash, magondala, BrownieTheFangirl, ppurpple, mssunnymuffins, espeon64, oh-cripe-my-fish, Renchikara, LucediDio,mirrorkirby64, quity190, Kathryn Daughter of Hestia, Elizaveta Hedervary - Hungary, spooky ghost flower, nightowlof2, Mondmaedchen, Siemsen, gintama200, phyllite, ravengal, not-philosophical, magicflyingmintbunnies, AllHellBrokeLoose666, GoneInASecond, Shikyoblossom20, theworldofhetalia, Acvodadkawall, skywolf2001
Driving Lessons Chapter 92 - Born to be Wild
The next morning, England's house…
"You're the bloody dad! You!" England yelled at Canada who was looking the worse for wear. They were FaceTiming - after England had got America to set it up - this had been a performance all on its own.
"Me?" Canada looked confused and then England held up Charlemagne.
"Hey!" Canada waved at the child and Charlemagne giggled and waved back. "I thought I'd lost him! Mr Kumajiro was babysitting, I went out and…"
"You're a terrible father! Where have you been? We've been looking after him for…how long?" Here England turned to America.
"Dunno," America said, scratching his head. "Wait! Does this mean I'm an Uncle?"
"Yes but…"
"I'm sorry I was really busy. I was hosting the international Gay Rodeo Festival in Toronto. Justin Trudeau was there." Canada said.
"You're a disgrace and when are you coming to get your child?" England asked.
"I know but I honestly thought Mr K had him!"
"Who's the mother?" England asked.
"Well… she's a very famous actress and she's more busy than me."
"Dude you're a Nation, you're never busy," America pointed out. He then turned to everyone who was crowded round "Well he's not. I'm not. Oh I should be at work!" He said and dashed out of the door. "Late again!" He ran back in, picked up his packed lunch box that England had made up for him (a Marvel lunch box) and ran back out, ran back in and said to England, "Don't let him take the kid!" And ran back out.
"I agree with Alfie. It's our kid now!" Den said.
"Ja," Prussia said. "This kid will one day rule the world. Along with me!"
"He's not staying here!" England insisted but Charlemagne turned big gooey blue eyes at him and he crumbled. "Well I suppose he can stay a bit longer."
"Yay!" Den said and plucked the child from England's arms.
"I'll pick him up when I've finished over here," Canada said and waved again at Charlemagne.
"Wait, what's his name? We've called him Charlemagne," England said.
Canada winced. "Charlie." He said.
"Well that's just spooky, America calls him that." England said.
"Oh yeah, probably cos I told him about Charlie ages ago."
"You did?" England stared at the Canadian but the Canadian had hung up. "I'm going to kill him!" England announced.
"Never mind, we can make this baby the greatest Nation ever!" Prussia said, his eyes shining.
"Mr England Sir?" Turkmenistan asked, standing next to him and holding a mug of greatly appreciated tea.
"What? Oh thanks. You're still here?"
"Yes evidently."
"The new neighbours next door asked me to ask you when the bins go out and also…"
"Tuesday," England replied.
"It's actually Monday." Turkmenistan said.
"I think I can tell you that it's Tuesday. I have lived here longer than you."
"Monday."
"It was Wednesday last week!" Den yelled downstairs.
"Really? Interesting." England said. "And?"
"Oh yes and could we keep the noise down?" Turkmenistan added.
"No I think that's an impossibility," England said. "Completely. Who are these people anyway?"
"I haven't actually met them," Turkmenistan apologised.
England handed him back the mug of tea. It was rather disappointing. He would have to take the lad in hand and teach him painstakingly like he did with Alfred how to make a decent cup of tea. Even if it took a century.
"What do you mean you haven't met them?"
"They sent a note." Turkmenistan produced said note written on cream paper with a delicate perfume in beautiful handwriting.
"Someone who studies calligraphy!" England breathed. "I like them already."
The note read:
Dear Neighbour
As we are new to the neighbourhood we would most appreciate it if you could tell us when the refuse collection was on this particular street.
We would also appreciate it if you could keep the noise down. Already we (meaning my husband, myself and our small son) have been awoken in the early hours by screaming, yells and howling. Whilst we are animal lovers per se we were not aware that wolves were allowed in a London Suburb.
In addition to this, Mr and Mrs George the previous occupants left behind a few possessions that they said belong to you and we enclose them.
I am sure you will understand that our privacy is of utmost paramount to us and I'm sure yours is to you.
Best wishes
H&M
"Well!" England said and looked at the 'possessions' - a battered monopoly board that had found its way into Mr and Mrs George's house by way of Prussia and Denmark strong-arming the couple into a monopoly marathon one Sunday and only leaving when they were kicked out after 14 hours of play. A teapot from Blackpool that England had bought for Mrs George for watering his plants once when he'd gone on holiday (this was some years ago when England still had holidays). The third possession was a big spoon that England had lent Mrs George when she was having problems with her jam-making. The whole thing was most disagreeable.
They were right about the wolves though. They needed to go. They were making a right mess of England's back lawn and the cats were terrified of them and had gone upstairs and refused to come down. The only person they listened to was Russia and the only language they understood was Russian.
England was about to go next door to ask what on earth they were talking about (although if he was really honest with himself, they were completely correct) when a van pulled up outside.
Four big burly men in overalls got out - all of them built like trucks and dragged a wardrobe out of the back.
"Delivering a wardrobe back to a Mr Kirkland?" One of them said in a distinct German accent.
"Did Ludwig Beilschmidt send you?" England asked suspiciously.
The man consulted his clipboard. "Ja."
"I don't want that thing," England said and pointed at the erstwhile piece of furniture now being placed on his driveway. "I ended up thousands of miles away from my home because of it."
The men did not react but gave England the clipboard to sign.
England sighed and signed 'Winston Churchill' not that it would have made any difference he felt.
The wardrobe stood immutable, immovable and immobile. England walked around it and then pinned a post it note to it that said 'DO NOT ENTER'. One of the wolves sat next to it and howled.
England considered nailing it shut. He didn't want anyone or anything coming out of it but on the other hand, he considered shoving some of his fellow Nations into it.
He wondered vaguely where Russia was. This wondering did not last long as the wolves began to howl in excitement and just as England was about to tell Denmark to dig out the tins of Chappie, Russia appeared at the top of the driveway helping a protesting Mrs Eastbottom across the road (she hadn't wanted to cross the road but Russia had helped her anyway, she had only come out of her house to peer at the new neighbours).
"Ah Russia! Good morning," England said. It wasn't really a good morning.
"Privet comrade! Mr Germany did not kill you in a terrible way that would have meant the only way we could identify you was by your dental records?"
England winced, "Well obviously." England was going to ask Russia where he'd been after escaping from Germany's rubbish Embassy party but decided not to. (He would have found that Russia had not been terrorising London as he'd thought but visiting the zoo.)
Russia nodded whether in approval or not is not sure and headed into the house for a 'nap' but before he did the wardrobe began making an anonymous banging noise. There was a crash from within and the door flung open.
There was a blast of frigid air, fog billowed out and a brief flurry of snow and a tall well built man in a Red Army greatcoat and fur hat emerged.
"Siberia!" Russia cried and flung his arms around him.
Siberia was holding a snow shovel in one hand and France by the scruff of the neck in the other. He flung the latter on the ground with a look of distaste.
"Is this yours?" He asked England and then said to Russia, "Privet Dad."
"Come inside and meet my friends!" Russia said. "I have friends now. I told them they were my friends and they are!"
Siberia did not look convinced of this. The wolves flung themselves at his feet. "I've come back for my children," he said pointing at the wolves. "Auntie Katya left them behind. And I'm delivering Mr France. He is causing too much trouble in my country."
"Yes erm sorry about that," England said looking with equal distaste at France who was prone on the floor dressed in female peasant attire complete with flowery headdress.
"Where's my brother?" England asked.
"Your brother? Wales?" Siberia looked confused, shoving 'Papa Russia' away from him.
"No, Scotland."
"Scotland!? You mean Scotland is in my region?" Siberia looked utterly outraged at this.
France giggled dirtily and England prodded him with his foot. Siberia was no common or garden psychopath, he was a full Grade A Siberian nut job and he was not happy.
Siberia spun round and went back into the wardrobe, the wolves following. "I have to go and get your brother and hope he hasn't caused too much havoc in my region," he said, ominously.
"I wouldn't count on that," England said.
France giggled again and muttered, "Region..."
"What?" Siberia snarled jumping back out of the wardrobe. Anyone else doing this would have been hysterically funny but there was nothing funny about Siberia.
England shushed France and shrugged.
"Come back soon! And don't forget to eat your greens!" Russia called out as Siberia went back inside and the door slammed close.
"Well that was interesting," England said. At least he'd got rid of the wolves - kind of - there was one who sat at Russia's feet gazing at him adoringly. But unfortunately he'd gained France.
"Pierre! Get yourself down here and scrub down your master!" England yelled.
He ignored the curtain twitching from the new next door neighbours whoever they might be.
"Monsieur Le France! You are alive!" Pierre cried and hugged his master. He seemed deliriously happy as well he might - after all he was responsible for the idiot Nation's welfare.
It was late afternoon before England had managed to get the wardrobe installed in his garden shed and securely locked away with a double padlock.
"Have you ever heard of these portals?" England asked Russia putting a big 'DO NOT ENTER ON PAIN OF DEATH' on the shed door.
Russia stared at him. "Of course. How do you think I go back to my Motherland every weekend to check up on my people?"
"Blimey." England said. He hadn't even noticed.
"Monsieur le France is ready for his next driving lesson now Monsieur Angleterre," Pierre said, suddenly appearing next to him.
"Bloody hell! You what?"
"Driving lesson! Your government and ze French Government had an agreement."
"Oh bloody hell."
"That's twice you have said that," Russia said. "I could teach him to drive if you like?"
"You? In what?"
Russia looked around. He looked at the Bentley but discounted it. "Hmmm we need an armoured car. It would be better." He absentmindedly stroked the wolf sat next to him.
Pierre was on his mobile telephone talking in positively filthy French (or it sounded like it) to someone. He hung up. "Monsieur le President Macron's aide said that it was imperative that you teach Monsieur le France to drive to ensure a good deal after ze Brexit."
"Bloody Brexit," England swore.
"Is that a type of biscuit?" Russia asked.
"Oh my God. I'd completely forgotten," England said. Whether he meant Brexit or the driving lessons we're not sure.
Turkmenistan came out of the house holding England's phone - his landline phone no less - in his hand. "Mr England there's a phone call for you! It's a Mr Johnson."
"Tell him I'm in Tesco."
"He says he's in Tesco," Turkmenistan answered lamely.
Russia shook his head. "I will talk with him. Is he the one with the mad hair?" He asked England.
England nodded.
"Privet Mr Prime Minister! I liked your predecessor. She was crazy." Russia said into the phone. "How did you get this number? Nobody has Mr England's number. Even me or the KGB, I mean FSB… Oh I see. You are his boss. Although I thought Queen Elizabeth was his boss? You want him to teach France to drive? Have you ever met France? Da. He is a pervert. You are a pervert? Oh you are not a pervert? But you like France? Are you a bit mad?"
England snatched the phone from him which elicited growls from both Russia and the wolf. England quickly said to Russia, "I think the Coronation Street omnibus is on!"
Russia eyes widened and he hurried inside.
England turned back to his phone. (Nobody ever called him on his landline only the odd prankster call that he had never found out the identity of and his boss.) "Hello yes Mr Johnson? I know we had an agreement but I disagree with that agreement. You have absolutely no idea how awful it is teaching that moron to drive. Perhaps we could get the special forces in for this? But I don't see how me teaching this imbecile to drive will help us get a good deal on Brexit? Well... President Macaroon, I mean Macron can go and sit on his mad arse and... oh alright..."
England listened to some 'utter bullshit' as he told his fellow Nations later and then hung up. He sighed deeply. Even getting France to read the Highway Code had been a problem as France had interpreted some of the signs as being 'sexy'.
What to do? England had a think while sat at his kitchen table with a mug of tea, watching with almost no interest as the CIA operatives - 'Marcel', 'Pascal' and 'Lucien' or whatever their names were or weren't - go next door on their 'new assignment'.
And then it suddenly came to him…
A few hours later…
England assembled his fellow Nations such as they were in the driveway. "This is how I'm going to teach France to drive!" He said. He opened the garage door with a flourish and everyone peered in. The wolf bounded in and stood wagging its tail like a dog.
"Out Fido!" England said.
It ignored him. "Come on, pooch," America said.
The wolf ignored him but Russia whistled and the wolf (now named Dave by Den for some reason) immediately sat down next to the Russian and gazed at him adoringly.
There was an ominous hulk of a shape in the corner with a tarpaulin over it. "This is it!" England announced and pulled the tarpaulin off to reveal…
A dull mud-brown World War Two motorbike.
Everyone gasped - with disappointment.
"Bloody hell!" Den said. "This is brilliant!"
England beamed with pride but this dissolved when Denmark shoved him aside and picked up a pogo stick hiding in the corner and proceeded to pogo around the driveway.
Prussia had found a trampoline and was setting it up in the mysterious next door neighbour's garden and proceeded to bounce on it.
"This is a bit rubbish," America said, prodding the motorbike. "It must be older than me!"
"This baby never let me down," England said patting the mud brown bike. "I have a sidecar as well!"
France began backing away.
Den, now pogo-ing on top of the trampoline yelled and peering in the new neighbour's upstairs windows yelled, "That new neighbour! It's M…."
But his voice was drowned out by England's next attempt to start the engine.
America, who had hoped it would be a cool motorbike akin to the one ridden by Steve McQueen in the movie The Great Escape shook his head, "It's manky," he said.
He was right. It also had the engine capacity of a coffee maker.
"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be at work?" It was a good question that England asked of the American. But Alfred had found he had no job to go to, having been late again for the second day in a row.
England decided that a motorbike and sidecar would be a safe alternative to teaching France to drive. He could ride the motorbike and show France the proper way to negotiate roundabouts etc while France was in the sidecar, at a safe distance. They'd had no luck in cars recently but this was about to change, England decided.
America was laughing long and hard. Russia looked amused.
"Our new neighbours are M…." Den said on his upward bounce on the trampoline and was again cut off as the motorbike engine spluttered into life.
"Ah yes! I drove this in the war!" England said above the row, rubbing the dust off the contraption.
"We're amazed," America said.
"My baby," England said.
"I thought your baby was your Bentley?" America said.
"Shut up."
France, wearing goggles, a pilot hat with earflaps and a camouflage jumpsuit all borrowed from America strode out of the house looking as if he were an astronaut going to the moon.
"Good luck Francypants. If you don't make it back I'll make sure your sacrifice was not in vain," America said as France got in the sidecar and saluted him as if he were going to war.
"Da," Russia said, not knowing what the American had said.
"What a palaver, we're only going down the road," England said and started the engine. The motorbike trundled out of the driveway and down the road at a steady 10 miles per hour. Leaving France in the sidecar sat in the driveway.
Den still bouncing on the trampoline yelled down at them, "Guess who the new neighbour is? They're glaring at me through the bedroom window!"
"No, I don't care! Get off so I can have a look!" Pru yelled back.
"Is it Ivan the Terrible?" Russia asked, momentarily taking his eyes off England chugchugging back up the road.
"Do you think he would be living in a semi-detached house in Croydon?" Prussia asked Russia.
Russia thought about this and said, "Maybe. He liked garages."
"Ridiculous."
"Can I have a go?" Russia asked, his eyes wide as Den appeared to go into the stratosphere.
"You'll break it," Prussia said.
"I'm not fat. It's my clothes. They are padded."
England had by now brought his bike back to the house and was re-coupling the sidecar to it.
America was filming this on his iPhone. France was silent throughout. He sat in the sidecar with goggles on, his face unreadable.
America thought he looked like the Queen.
They set off again. "Ah to feel the wind in my hair!" England said. Although obviously wearing a Union Jack crash helmet meant he could feel no wind in his hair. He was also wearing goggles. He'd dug them out of his World War 2 equipment stash.
They got to the end of the road safely (America was amazed and had 999 on speed dial) and turned left. In fact England had intended to turn right but found that the handlebars were so stiff from lack of use they wouldn't turn right.
They did not get far. The motorbike spluttered to a stop on the A441 just 1.5 miles from England's house.
"I say! There's no need to call me a dickhead!" England said in an altercation with the driver of the number 92 bus. "How was I to know you wanted to stop here? So what if it's a bus stop? I honestly think if you are employed by London Transport you would be more used to motorcyclists being on the road."
France hid his face behind a London street map which he was pretending to study.
"What say you, Francis?"
But Francis hopped out of the sidecar and was halfway home before England had even dialled Alfred's phone number for a tow home.
Alfred meanwhile was busy leaning over the garden fence talking to the CIA agents now working for the new next door neighbours and finding out all about who they were.
"Wow! You don't say! I really wouldn't have guessed it would be them!" He said and then because he wasn't really that interested, answered his phone and shouted at the agents, "Gotta go. Got to rescue Artie dude. You know how he is!" (As if England needed perpetual rescuing.)
France eventually walked up the driveway still wearing America's spare pilot uniform. "Remind me if Angleterre ever decides to get out zat zing again not to get in it. For any amount of wine!" He said. "Even if it means a feel of England's derriere or even a look inside his underwear drawer. Promise me!"
"Er yeah. But I have to go and rescue him."
"Ah oui and what were you saying to Pascal, non?" France indicated the CIA agent.
"Oh yeah we were on about who the next door neighbour is. It's…" but America answered his phone again. "Yeah yeah I know man! I'm on my way! Jeez keep your wig on! I'm getting in my car now! Can't you just wheel the thing round here? No? It's too heavy? Flipping heck! What? No, flipping heck is not swearing. Calm down! I'm driving down there now!" America shouted but made no move towards his car/jeep or as England called it 'monstrosity'. He was trying to get 'Pascal' to show him his firearm.
"Who is ze new neighbours?" France asked 'Pascal'.
But Pascal refused to tell the Frenchman telling him it was 'classified'.
"But you told ze idiot boy here!" France pointed at America, who looked around thinking France was referring to someone else.
"Yes but Mr America is still our boss, kind of," Pascal replied and went back inside the house.
"Yessir I am!" America punched the air and answered his phone again which was jangling away to the Superman theme tune. He saw that it was England again. "I know I know! I'm doing it now!" America yelled into it and stood again for a few more minutes savouring France's bemused look.
To be honest, America had no real interest in other people's lives (particularly human lives) and often instantly forgot about their holidays/children/new homes/new presidents. It was all so boring. Even most of the Nations were boring in his eyes. And so he'd already forgotten what 'Pascal' had told him and so he blithely 'buggered off' to pick up England.
He didn't get very far down the road before he saw England pushing the motorbike home.
"Yo!" America yelled from his Humvee. "Need a lift?"
"Well wouldn't that be just dandy? I mean where have you been? I had to endure pushing this all the way around the one way system and up Acacia Avenue where that strange cat lady lives who thinks I'm in love with her," (she didn't) "and then I got shouted at by some ne'er do well kids who think it's hilarious that I have a museum piece and then to top it off I think I saw Belarus driving a hearse."
But America wasn't listening (he had the attention span of a goldfish). "Isn't that Miss Belarus in a hearse?" He asked and then drove off or 'buggered off' as England would say.
"Bloody stupid boy," England said to himself. Turned around and yes it was. Belarus. In a hearse. Driving one. Bugger.
"Why is your bin not out?" Belarus asked him.