Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

A/n1: So there's a lot going on in America right now, huh? With the shutdown and everything. We in Europe don't really understand what's going on, to be honest with you. It seems to be pretty damn serious, though! I hope you're all alright there!
By the way, America makes an appearance in this chapter. I hope it's not offending or anything – just the usual way of how I write America.^^

A/n2:When my brothers and I were still annoying little kids with a knack for getting lost in random amusement parks, our parents gave us cool, silvery necklaces with our names and address on it. We thought they were super awesome – and it wasn't until recently that I found out soldiers also use those necklace-nametag things. Dog tags, they're apparently called in English.
So yeah. Guess what Lovi's buying the kids in order to prevent the kids from getting lost…? 8DDDDDDDD

A/n3: Erik Homburger Erikson (that's right: Erik Erikson – his parents must have had a very weird sense of humor, huh?) was yet another guy I had to learn about. He was all about the so-called "stages of psychosocial development". Because when you're a kid growing up, and you don't behave the way you are supposed to behave when you're at a certain age, that little voice in the back of your head starts to nag at you, and then shit happens – unless you do something about it.
Yeah, I bet there's a much better explanation about his theories, but in short, this is what that whole "stages" thing is all about.
By the way, Erikson apparently was the one who made up the famous phrase identity crisis.^^

~~ And Three Makes Five ~~

Chapter 20:

Do not mistake a child for his symptom.
Erik Erikson
(German-American developmental psychologist and psychoanalyst)

A little while later, the Netherlands and Antonio obediently followed me, Liechtenstein and the Monster of Netherstein to the busier part of the city, both of them now moaning and cupping their damaged, reddened ears.

…

Yes, Liechtenstein had actually pulled their ears when they hadn't stopped the mindless bickering. Apparently, girls do that when we men don't listen up to them quick enough to their liking. They will grab your ear and you will be in a world of hurt and it will be all you very own fault.

Amazing just how much pain a little girl – whoops, sorry, a little nation like Liechtenstein can cause with those cute fingers of hers. I mean, they look so sweet and elegant and petite, and yet, they curled themselves around the poor Dutchman's and the helpless Spaniard's ears like they were evil, dead-spreading vice-grips and jerked the ever loving crap out of them!

And then she was like "well can we all be nice and go shopping together now" and Netherlands and Antonio were like "yes yes please don't pull my ear anymore you demon and please get out of Liechtenstein's body what have you done to the feeble girl she once was" and then we walked over to the city.

Yes, we could have caught a bus that could have brought us to the center of the town, but Antonio and I thought we should save our money for the toys and the Netherlands said he was going to get a nasty rash on his face if he had to pay for the bus fare all by himself.

'But don't worry, it's not contagious for you two gay boys. Only rich people that don't spend their money on a whim get it.'

'Tightwad rash,' Antonio blurted out.

And then he had to walk a little faster, because the Netherlands – who had been walking in front of us since he's such a fast asshole – suddenly stopped to wait for him and presumably kick his sassy Spanish ass.

And then both Antonio and the Netherlands walked a little faster, because now Liechtenstein was speeding up her walking, and they looked so scared and weird, running from a tiny, yet extremely fast racing girl and sprinting through the streets with their hands covering their ears like that, and if I hadn't been used to this kind of super weird images already, I'd have snickered and call them names.

…

Oh who am I kidding – I did just that.

And then Netherlands and Antonio got mad at me.

And then Liechtenstein made a sharp U-turn and raced my way, opening and closing her razor-sharp fingers of horror like she had turned into a living guillotine.

And then I ran for my ears – life, I mean.

…

…

But ANYWAY.

Eventually, we made it to the town – which, thankfully, wasn't that far away from the bus station.

Once we got on the big, white square area that apparently was the place where on each Wednesday a market was held – because there were people and random tents and odors of fish, fruit and nuts everywhere – the four of us decided what we were going to do.

Now this was our plan:

A: We'd go to all the toy shops in town, and buy pretty much everything that was inside of them. Then we'd told the shopkeeper to put all the squeaky, plushy and plastic stuff into a truck and that truck would deliver it to our House later this day.

B: After that, we'd go all the stores that had got something to do with interior design and get ourselves some nice wallpaper and cool paintings and a random replica of the beautiful Venus de Milo-statue, because my GOD, hadn't I always wanted that pretty naked, armless woman chilling out in our back garden. I swear, if Antonio wasn't creeped out by it, I'd have that baby for years – and this time, I was going to get her, too!

…

Not sure how I should smuggle her past Antonio, but I'd find a way.

The wallpaper and other decorating stuff would also be delivered to our place, by the way.

C: Then, we'd go to a local Ikea-like discount store.

…

No, don't give me that skeptical look, Antonio and I couldn't go for a more sophisticated warehouse; we could even barely afford ourselves Swedish mass-production-houses, dammit!

So yes, we'd go to the Spanish Ikea and get linen and furniture, like bed sheets, lamps, doorknobs, freaky stuffed animals and bookcases that all had scary, Scandinavian-like names that no one could pronounce, except maybe Swedish Spaniards.

And now I was picturing Antonio passionately hugging a blushing and shy Sweden as he said they should make babies, which was so very wrong on so many levels. BRRRRRRR.

D: And finally, when all of that was safely stuck on a truck to Madrid and when our wallets were emptier than a bottomless well, we'd look around the town to get something special for the kids and steal it, since we would be broke at this point.

E: Also, have a drink in a local lunchroom. We were planning to do that as well, as a reward for our hard work and all.

And we needed to do all of this before the clock struck 6 o'clock.

…

Yeah.

Wish us luck.

And a shitload of energy.

\0o0/

The rest of the following few hours, Netherlands, Liechtenstein, the Monster of Netherstein, Antonio and I were busy buying all the shit that we were, apparently, supposed to buy, if I had to believe the Netherlands.

It wasn't exactly something I liked to call fun, but it wasn't unfun either – shut your trap, unfun is a word – and I actually had a fairly good time, wandering around the hot, but friendly town with the other idiots and discussing were we should head for the next subject on our list.

Yes, a list, Liechtenstein had made us a checklist where she had written down all of our very important purchases, together with little scrabbles of flowers and dogs and cats and an occasional bird, or peacock, or whatever those shiny, huge-tailed beasts were called.

Although we had started our sacred quest to grab all the toys we were supposed to grab in an extremely bad mood (the Netherlands and Antonio's ears were bruised and abused and burnt even more now that the sun was hitting its rays on them, after all, and Liechtenstein, the kid and I just sweated our faces off)…

…things slowly but surely started to be a lot more enjoyable when it turned out that we were motorboat-racing through Liechtenstein's checklist pretty damn fast. As you can expect of motorboat-racing, I guess, since I've never seen slow motorboat-races. On the other hand, I hadn't seen even a single motorboat-race.

…

Now where did that comparison come from, then?

…

Let's not think about it too much, it's way too hot to be thinking about motorboats.

Anyway, so we got out stuff pretty rapidly. One moment we were wondering at a local bookstore whether to stock some extra coloring books for the kids (and Antonio), and the next moment we told a man with a very daring, curly mustache in a completely different store that we'd like to have that lime-green wallpaper with light-green butterflies on it for our daughter.

'Yes, because if we give it to one of our sons, he'll try to rip them up with my bowie knives,' Antonio explained to the man – who could only nod a bit and shot me worried looks.

Then, after that, we were suddenly in the Spaikea (how'd you like that, Spain and Ikea put together is Spaikea, my god, I'm such a wording wonder, I could cry) and got a 50% discount on all the lamps we had tossed into that weird little cart because the entire warehouse was filled to the brim with sexual frustrated single women in their mid-twenties and oh, both Antonio and I had a great time flirting. Until one particular girl practically offered herself to us and even threw herself on the cart – then we decided enough was enough.

'You have all been very helpful to us,' I even said in a small departing speech (I had to do one, they had surrounded us, they'd have raped me and Antonio right on the spot if I didn't do it), 'and you are all very beautiful and kind.'

'Tell them they're pretty dang stupid, too, for falling for two flaming faggots,' Netherlands yelled somewhere in the back of the huge crowd. 'I mean, didn't they see you two making out in the bed section because the Spanish homo "couldn't take it anymore"?'

'Lies!' Antonio had shouted immediately. 'We made out in the kitchen section and I actually said I "could have taken him some more"!'

'What, so you two went for a quicky in the kitchen section?'

'Well, there is a reason why my sweet Lovi's face is red and flushed, you know. I did stuff.'

'Yuck. Please promise me to never enter my kitchen.'

'I'll enter other things, then.'

OH MY THOUSAND-AND-ONE GODS.

'Antonio, for the love of crap, shutthefuckupplease,' I had hissed frantically, but it was too late, and for the umpteenth time that day, we all had to accelerate our legs to the fifth gear and get the hell out before the furious herd of hurt females would stampede us to our timely deaths.

Netherlands, the kid and Liechtenstein weren't harmed, by the way – they just followed the mob with our purchased goods until the evil Amazons gave up and returned to their Spaikeatastic store, and then Antonio and I could finally climb out of that tree and snarl at Liechtenstein for not-doing anything to help us out, and nag at Netherlands for video-taping the whole thing and placing cactus plants around Antonio's share of the tree.

'Because,' the Dutchman reasoned upon Antonio's shrill yelling why the hell he did that, 'nothing says "I hate you" more than a bunch of cacti. And they were on sale, too.'

…

…

But other than that, things went pretty smoothly, and after we got ourselves out of that tree, we already could drag ourselves and all the heavy shopping bags we had gotten in the meantime to a nice little restaurant and relax a little.

\0o0/

It wasn't until we all sat down and got our drinks that the ambiance finally, finally, seemed to become a lot more… relaxed. We all had done what we had needed to do, after all, so celebratory back-pats for all of us. Pat pat, pat pat.

Antonio, who had ordered a big glass ice-cold tomato juice, was talking to Liechtenstein (who had a badass goblet with ice tea) about how adorable her son was and his own sons and daughter were. Bas, aka the Monster of Netherstein, aka Silent and Shockingly Easy Kid to Handle During Shopping, was drinking a weird, milky, pink liquid that smelled like strawberries – with a funny purple straw.

And me and the Netherlands, well, we were enjoying our drinks as well. He had a beer – 'Because beer's less expensive than water. And don't sigh like that, it really says so on this dubiously sticky card thing.' – and I had a cola.

…

What?

So I happened to like cola! Big deal! You don't know how fucking heavenly a huge glass of cola is, filled to the brim with big icecubes that go "krrtching!" when you try to gave a sip from it, dammit!

Or you do know and agree with me. Because in that case, I haven't said anything and think you're swell.

And now you'd probably feel thirsty and like to have a cold glass of cola yourself, too, don't you? Ha! Man, I'm the master of manipulation! Now go to that fridge and drink it all up, you dehydrated sucker!

…

…

Anyway…

'You know,' I started, looking at the Netherlands while the Netherlands looked at Liechtenstein, who was looking at Antonio, who was grinning at Bas, who gaped at me (like more sort of bizarre love dodecahedron), 'I was thinking about something.'

'That's alright,' the Dutchman said, instantly pulling his gaze from Liechtenstein to nod at me. 'You can pay me those 13 euros back in cash, no problem. I don't accept checks.'

Oh for the love of CRAP – wait, did he just add even more euros to my non-existent debt?

'Would you PLEASE stop thinking about money for ONE DAMN SECOND?' I growled, squeezing into my glass of cola.

'I could do that if I wanted to. I just don't want to.' He snorted. 'But okay. If it's not paying me back that's bothering you, which would surprise me greatly, then what else is?'

'You are supposed to be a specialist, right?' I asked him, ignoring almost everything he had said. 'A specialist when it's about the happiness of kids.'

'I already told you that's correct, Romano. Are you getting forgetful or is Spain's stupidness rubbing off on you?'

'Am I rubbing someone off?' Antonio immediately responded, confused. 'I'm not sure what you mean, but should we say stuff like that in this fancy restaurant?'

'It's nothing, nothing! Just drink your tomato blood already!' I quickly said, and grumbled – that evil tall freak was always trying to pick a fight with Antonio, wasn't he?

I turned to the Dutchman again. 'Look, Netherlands – it's just… I haven't exactly seen your knowledge about kids and how to raise them… shine yet, if you know what I mean. I mean, what is it that you do to have so many happy, feeling-good kids in your country, huh? Do you have a fantastic education system? Do kids have a lot of rights at your place? Didn't you potheads know anything else to be better at?'

'Aha,' Netherlands said, for no reason at all, and took a big gulp from his beer. His mouth was now covered in foam, and yet, it didn't look funny to me at all, even though Liechtenstein seemed to be very amused by the sight of Netherlands' foam beard.

'Well?' I said.

'Well,' he also said, slowly putting his pint down again, 'we're not that great at education. Sure, we're still better than you dorks down south, but Finland, Denmark, Norway and Sweden pretty much are the best at education. We do have enough of those rights for kids, or whatever, but please don't ask me what they are. Also, I don't know that much about what's the best way to raise a kid.'

My jaw dropped a bit when I saw, and realized, the man was telling me the truth.

'…but… but then why did doctor Tosca say I should take advice from you?'

'That's because the kids are the happiest at my place.' He smiled a little bit. 'Since Dutch parents tend to spoil their beloved kids rotten.'

'That's it?'

'Well, we also don't push them to achieve higher goals if they don't feel like doing that and we actually just let them do whatever they want to do.'

'…oh.'

'Not always a good thing.' He now grimaced. 'But hey, the kids are more than happy with it. Still, I'm not going to spoil Bas. I'll be a firm and stern dad who won't be saying "of course I'll buy that for you" to that cute little face too often.'

Right at that moment, Bas looked at his father and smiled.

'Papa, will ya buy me apple-pie?'

'Of course I'll buy that for you.' The Netherlands firm- and sternly pulled out his wallet and basically threw all of its insides at Bastardly Bas' satisfied face, and I think this was the most disturbing thing I had seen all day long.

And indeed, now that I thought about it, the Dutchman hadn't exactly been holding back on getting his son everything his scrawny little heart wished for, and that's probably the reason why that kid was dressed like a prince (oh, such expensive brands of clothing!) and enjoyed one of the most luxurious drinks that was on the menu.

…

I literally had no words for it. I really, really hadn't.

So instead of trying to figure out what to think of the Dutchman's actions, I decided to take out one of three small, square-shaped boxes – these were a few of the last things Antonio and I had bought before we retreated to this restaurant – and take a look inside of it.

You see, while we were shopping, we happened to stumble across a jewelry shop. It was a wonderfully cheap one, so after the Netherlands had pretty much broken the door down in his hurry to get the fuck inside, the others and I had followed him, because why the fuck not.

Inside the shop, you could buy all kinds of glittery crap – but while Liechtenstein successfully tricked her Dutch lover (or whatever he was to her) into buying a lovely flower brooch and while Antonio was staring at a red jewel that looked way too much like a tomato to his liking ('I swear it's edible… I swear it!'), I went to talk to the clerk, asking if he could make nametag-necklaces.

…

Okay, maybe I should try to explain this one…

In those war movies, or in real-life warlike… things, soldiers always wear a silvery nametag around their necks, connected to a necklace. Those nametag-necklaces (I think their actual name is dog tag) are pretty damn cool. And handy, too, because when a soldier gets wounded or blown to tiny bits, they could always retrieve his identity from that nametag-thingy and sent the baggage the soldiers left behind back to their family.

Or something – I'm not sure.

But anyway, I was thinking: why not give the kids a dog nametag-necklace soldier stuff thing? I mean, it's fucking awesome to wear, and it's responsible, too, because I was planning to let the man in the shop put our address on the nametag. That way, if one or more of the demon children ever dare to wander off from home too much, people could bring them back to us.

Fucking. GENIUS.

It hurt to be this smart. It hurt.

So I told Antonio if he was okay with it, and since he was still busy being hypnotized and shit, he was, and within a half hour, we got these cool dog tags. On the front, it would say either "Matteo" or "Luisa" or "Alejo", and on the other side, our address would be.

…

No, I'm not telling you what our address is. Why should I tell you, dammit! Take a hike!

…

So that's how I got these nametag-necklaces and that's why I was now once again looking at one: just to see once again how awesomely cool these things were.

'Hey, Lovi?' I suddenly heard from my left side.

I tore my gaze away from the dog tag and gave Antonio, who had just finished his drink, a questioningly look.

'Yes?'

'I think we should head back home, sweetie.' He clacked his tongue and pointed to a clock on the wall. 'We have less than a hour before the kids' examinations will be over, and I don't want to be late…'

'You're right,' I nodded, 'and you have a cactus hanging on your sleeve.'

'Ah, yes, I know!' Antonio chuckled and plucked the thing off his sleeve, putting it on the table. 'When I got out of that tree and looked at the cacti a bit better, I noticed there was one that looked pretty nice, since it had a small pink flower blooming. And then I thought, what a swell present this would be for Matteo, and so I ended up sticking it to my sleeve and bringing it with me!'

'Why didn't you just carry it? You know, like ordinary, sane people do?'

'Because I had too many shopping bags…' He smiled nervously. 'Ah, I really hope my Boss won't be too angry with me, for spending this much money on the children…'

'Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that if I were you. He probably understands. He's a father himself, after all.'

I smiled faintly at Antonio, before turning to Liechtenstein, Netherlands and the weird little fruit of their strange "love", or whatever it was, and cleaned my throat.

'So yeah, we have to leave. It's almost time, you see. I'll put some money on the table and we're off.'

'So you've finally decided to pay me back. What a wonderful day this is.' The Netherlands still had this stoic look, but now his eyes seemed to be a bit watery. 'Elise, Bas – the next round's on me. Waiter, give me a glass of water and three straws. This needs to be celebrated.'

'I'm paying for our drinks, you creep!' I nagged at him, standing up and collecting our bags. 'Don't jump to your own weird conclusions!'

'It was nice spending the day with the two of you,' Liechtenstein said as she watched me and Antonio trying to carry all of our freshly-purchased crap.

'Yes, the same here!' Antonio smiled and stuck the cactus back to his sleeve. 'What about you, Bas and that jerk, Liechtenstein? Aren't you going back home yet?'

Liechtenstein wanted to answer him, but before she could even form the words with her lips, all of a sudden, two cloaks were tossed to the side – and there, right in front of our table, two blond freaks appeared.

…

Two awfully familiar-looking freaks. One big and obnoxious, the other one a smaller version of the first, only with green eyes. Both had massive grins on their faces.

…

Seriously?

'Hahahahaha! Nice! And once again, America appears in a blur of freedom and elegantly-cast-aside cloaks of justice!' America instantly said, loudly said, and proudly put his hands on his sides.

'Capital!' the smaller version of America cheered.

'America? Son of America?' I stammered, almost letting my bags drop back on the floor again. 'What the fucking hell are you doing here, of all places you could be!'

'Wait, they were here? All this time?' Antonio said, just as surprised as the rest of us. 'Did you follow us through the village, only wearing those black cloaks?'

'Of course we were!' America informed us. 'After all, we need to ask all of you European personifications some very important questions concerning the kids that Iggy managed to summon with his weird Harry Potter powers. And the last time I checked the map, the four of you were still part of Europe – so I need to interview you! Then again, the last time I checked the map of Europe was back in 1999, so if anything interesting has happened to your European status in the meantime – do tell me! I'll attempt to listen!'

'And I'll do the filming!' teenage!America not-logically squeaked, pointing to a small camera he was holding. 'The interviews, I mean!'

'Hahaha! That's right!' America grinned widely. 'Johnny here will film his heroic father and the countries he speaks with. You know, as evidence for later.'

I blinked. 'Evidence for what?'

'For later, Romano – are you getting deaf or is Spain's stupidness rubbing off on you?'

'What's with all these people claiming I've been rubbing stuff off!' Antonio whined.

'Wha—no! Look, I know you're collecting shitty evidence for later; you just said that yourself! But why! For what purpose!' I nagged at the blond, American douchebag.

'That…' America instantly bent over to me (and effectively scared the living shit out of me doing just that) and carried on in a much softer voice.

'…I'm afraid that's a secret for now, Romano… But I can tell you one thing, and that's that something stinks.'

'Hey!' Netherlands shot an angry glare to the waiter. 'Did you just serve my son a smelly, rotten piece of apple-pie? I should pickpocket you for that.'

'No no, that pie doesn't stink – this whole mad situation we're currently in stinks,' America explained, finally getting a normal pose. 'This situation… it reeks of trouble, and me and little Johnny are going to find out just what's happening in the second-to-best-continent in the world.'

'Elementary!' Johnny shouted.

'And you're planning to do that by… interviewing countries?' I slowly said, putting one and one together.

'That's right.' America smiled. 'Ah, but in this case, I just need to interview the Netherlands and Liechtenstein. You and Spain aren't that interesting at the moment.'

'Aww, that's too bad.' Antonio didn't even try to hide his sarcasm. 'Well, then I guess Lovi and I should go already and leave you wonderful beings be. Is that okay?'

I wanted to protest – what the fuck, why the hell wouldn't Antonio and I be interesting enough for the Douchebag Duo – but Antonio gave me a look that was telling me to please shut up and follow him.

…

Well, okay then.

So we left the other four countries and the two kids in the restaurant and went back to the bus station.

Still, as we walked back to the station, I couldn't help but think about what America had said.

So America also thought something was fishy about all this kid-stuff. It wasn't just me. And I bet the American could tell me a lot more about his findings, too.

…

Dammit. Hopefully, America would come interview me and Antonio as soon as he could. I'd have some questions for him as well.