So if you read the ending author's note, you'd know that I wasn't posting this as a single story. It would be a bunch of difference little one shots. That form a coherent storyline with twists and turns and maybe a love triangle or two. Or 45, but, you know. Details. As we get further into the series, certain one shots won't require the reader read the ones before it *coughdateswithromeandamericacough* but it will be less confusing if you do. You should also not pay attention to the ending author's note because I'm stupid don't listen to me. Now! I don't own Hetalia, ONTO THE STORY
YOU WORRY TOO MUCH YOU MAKE YOURSELF SAD YOU CAN'T CHANGE FATE BUT DON'T FEEL SO BAD
It had been a few days since they had arrived in 23 BC and the trio were no closer to getting back home than they were when they first got there. They were staying in Roman Empire's wing in the Imperial Palace, and the empire insisted on following America wherever he went. Which annoyed the young nation to no end.
"Veneziano," America whined in a rare hour of alone time (Roman Empire was at a a meeting with the other Ancients. It seemed that even back then the nations got together), "Make him stop following me around."
"Ve~ I don't know if I can, America. Grandpa Rome is pretty stubborn. Once he sets his mind to something, he won't rest until that something is accomplished. Or wooed, in the case of a person," Veneziano said, not looking up from the text he was reading.
"What're you even reading?" America asked.
"A text on magic. I'm trying to see if our situation was caused by magical and not scientific means," Veneziano said.
America snorted, "Magic isn't real."
"That's where you're wrong, beautiful," America sighed in disappointment as Roman Empire reappeared, "I don't understand how you can't accept magic as a reality. We are literally the very personification of a group of humans that declared themselves citizens of a place. That's magical. This love is magical."
"What love? All I feel is annoyance and a slight loathing," America murmured under his breath. Needless to say, Roman Empire was nothing like what America had expected. The guy wasn't noble. Or heroic. Or honest. Or strong. Or courageous. Or anything that the (twenty-third) greatest empire in the world should be. What he was, was flirtatious. And presumptuous. And annoying. And loud. And that's coming from America. If that isn't telling you something, nothing will.
"If magic is so real, Roman Empire, than how come we haven't been able to find a way back to our own time in all these spell books?" America asked, longsufferingly.
Roman Empire sighed like someone teaching an uneducated person something they had said a million times, "I told you to call me Rome. Or Romulus, if you'd like, Americae-"
"America," America corrected quietly.
"You can't find anything because most spells are exchanged and kept alive orally. If you want to find a spell, I know exactly where we have to go. Besides, why ever would you want to leave when I'm right here? Oh! Well. I mean, I'm alive in that time, too. But who knows how I feel about you then! Oh, it's impossible for me to not notice you! You're so radiant even the great goddess Venus is jealous of your beauty!" Rome didn't seem to mind America mocking his voice quietly the whole time.
"Actually, you're a lot different in our time. Much less annoying," America said. Rome didn't seem to catch the insult.
"What's your human name?" Rome asked.
America choked on his wine, "What!? That's a bit presumptuous, isn't it? I can't just tell you my human name, that's a personal thing!"
"Is it really? Is that how it is in the future? Here, everyone knows everyone's human names," Rome said.
"Not everyone," America murmured.
"What was that?" Rome asked.
"Nothing. Who do we have to go to see if a spell exists?" America asked.
"Britannia," Rome said casually. America stiffened.
"Britannia? As in, the mother of England and Scotland and Wales and North Ireland and Ireland?" America asked.
"Are there two Irelands in your time? And, yes, that Britannia," Rome said.
"Oh god no." Before the trio had left, America had had a terrible row with England. And America didn't think he could stand to see England, no matter the age of the older nation.
"Well." Rome continued, "We will have to leave in a few days for Britannia's place. She resides on an island, so we will have to take a ship after we walk to the coastline."
"Ve~ We're walking, Grandpa? I thought we would be taking horses," Veneziano said. Rome didn't seem to mind Veneziano calling him grandpa.
"If you all know how to ride, we can," Rome said, "That would be faster."
"I can ride," America said.
"Oh, no. We can't let you ride by yourself, you could get hurt! You'll ride with me," Rome said. America shot a "please help me" look to Veneziano.
"Actually, Grandpa. I think it would be best that America ride with me. I'm not a very good rider and I wouldn't want to fall off and get hurt, and America is so much more skilled at it than me," Veneziano said.
"Smart, beautiful and a skilled rider? I think I'm falling for you by the minute." for an odd reason, the words seemed to make America's heart skip a beat. It was rather uncomfortable.
"I'll, uh, just ride with Veneziano so that he doesn't get hurt," America said, shooting a thankful look to the Italian.
"Yes, of course! And my grandson is very skilled with a sword so should bandits attack, he can defend you and your honour," Rome said, then walked off to go arrange everything.
"You and your honour," America mimicked lowly.
"You should try to be nicer to him. He really does like you," Germany commented lightly.
America snorted, "How d'ya know that?"
"He got drunk and told me last night," Germany said, stretching to put what he was reading away, "He seemed to think I might know how to woo you."
"Lord help us all if someone's going to Spock here for romantic advice," America said.
"Who is this Spock, you speak of? Is he another nation in your time?" Rome asked. America snorted, looking down and shaking his hand.
"No, Spock is not another nation. He's a character in an epic series," America said, his tone laughing.
"Oh! You will have to tell me of this series some time. For now, I must take my leave to prepare the horses and supplies," Rome said before walking off. America watched as he walked off, feeling slightly bad for the slightly disheartened face the older nation wore.
YOU CAN'T CHANGE FATE BUT DON'T FEEL SO BAD ENJOY IT WHILE YOU CAN IT'S JUST LIKE THE WEATHER
Rome stood among the horses, petting his favorite one, a large Calabrese with golden brown fur and a black mane and tail. She was strong and swift and always reliable. Rome had ridden her and her ancestors into battle for centuries. She was his dearest friend, aside from Germania.
"Hello, girl," Rome whispered into her ear, "What do you think of those three? They're hiding something from me. Can you feel it, too, girl?" The horse snorted and reared her head, Rome leaned back to avoid getting hit.
"It's nothing malicious, I can tell. Something that makes my grandson sad. Whatever it is, I'll find out soon. With or without them telling me," Rome said, very sure of himself.
"For now, though, I should get the others ready for the ride tomorrow. The servants will have set up the supplies," Rome pressed a kiss to the horse's temple and walked off to the other three horses that would be ridden plus a pack mule.
"Do you need any help?" Rome turned around and smiled at Germany.
"Yes, please, come in. Can you work with her?" Rome pointed to a catria horse. Germany nodded and made his way over to her. She reared her head at the unfamiliar touch at first, but calmed when she realized there was no threat. Rome smiled. It seemed the boy had the same touch with animals that his grandfather did.
"Ignore America," Germany said suddenly, "I mean, ignore the mean things he says. He gets that way sometimes. He'll let it go in a little bit."
"I get the feeling that he doesn't like me that much," Rome answered, petting the bardigiano he was brushing.
"It's not that. You're. . . different in our time. He has a certain perception of you - we all do, really - and you're not quite what he expected. He's shocked and doesn't know how to act," Germany explained, "He'll get his act together soon."
"You know, you look and act so much like your grandfather. It's frightening, sometimes," Rome said, "Though you are calmer than he."
Germany looked shocked for a second, "Uh. . . Thank you."
"Why are names a personal thing in the future?" Rome asked. Germany was silent for a few minutes, as if thinking.
"I. . . In the future, there are a lot of us. And we tend to form families out of all of them. For example, Veneziano, Romano, France, and Spain consider themselves a family. But then France also has Seychelles, England, Canada, and Monaco. Furthermore, Spain also has Netherlands, Belgium, and Romano. I have Prussia, Austria, Switzerland, Liechtenstein, and Hungary.
"We make these families, so that we are not alone. These 'families' are the Nations that we trust more than anything in the world. They are the ones that, despite history, have and always will be with us. So we tell them personal names. It's also a respect thing.
"In our time, to call a nation by their human name either means that you are a very close or. . . It's an insult. Calling someone by their human name as an insult is essentially saying that you don't recognize them as a country, and believe them to be nothing more than a human and unworthy of proper respect. Of course, it doesn't change the fact that, legally, you do recognize them, but it is the greatest insult one can give without invading the other country," Germany explained.
"Who is in America's family?" Rome asked.
"That. . . Is a complicated question," Germany continued, "I don't particularly know. He seems close with England, but they fight so often that I'm not quite sure if they count. Canada is his twin and there is rarely one without the other, so I guess you could count him. But, then again, Canada seems to have no qualms about ignoring his brother; and neither does America."
"So, Canada and England?" Rome asked.
"I wouldn't say that, no. The Nordic countries seem rather fond of him, god knows why. Then again, they deal with Denmark on a daily basis so I guess they have a pretty strong tolerance. The Netherlands treats him as a son, but so does Spain. He seems generally accepted by the Baltics and Asian countries, though I think the Asian countries only accept him because of Vietnam and Japan and S. Korea. Belarus and Ukraine seem to like him, but Russia hates his guts," Germany said.
"America kind of just. . . Bounces around. He doesn't have any set family like most of us, but everyone sort of treats him as a little brother. Aside from the micronations, he is one of the youngest nations," Germany said.
"Huh. He seems lonely," Rome said.
Germany cocked his head, setting down the brush he was using on his horse, "I suppose he might be. I never thought of it like that. Should we go back in?"
"Yes, I suppose we should." Rome laid a gentle hand on the horse's back as a goodbye before following Germany from the stables.
SO QUIT COMPLAINING BROTHER NO ONE LIVES FOREVER
Back in The Modern Day~
England knocked harshly on America's hotel room door. He'd been looking for the idiot everywhere that he would usually be, but he just couldn't find him anywhere! It was like he had disappeared off the face of the Earth! Which was, of course, impossible. Nations couldn't stray too far from their land without consequences.
"l'Angleterre! Why are you knocking so loudly, some of us are trying to sleep," France whisper-shouted, opening the door just to the left of America's.
"I'm looking for America. Have you seen him?" England asked.
"l"Amerique? No, I haven't seen him since the end of the meeting a few days ago," France said, "Hasn't he just gone home?"
"No. I checked with his boss. He hasn't seen him since before he left for the meeting," England answered. France ran a hand through his hair and tied it back with a hair tie around his wrist.
"Where do you think he could have gone?" France asked.
"I don't know. Get dressed, come help me look for him," England commanded. France groaned but went back into his room to get dressed.
"Where do we start looking?" France asked.
"Last time I saw him, he was leaving the meeting with Veneziano and Germany. We should find them, see if they know anything," England said. France nodded and set out to look for the rogue nation.
About an hour into their search, they ran into Romano at some old museum that only America would actually find interesting.
"Romano, have you seen America?" France asked.
"Tch," Romano responded, annoyed, "No. Last I saw him, he was with my idiot brother. Great. They're both missing."
"Wait, your brothers are missing too?" England and Romano groaned at the German accented voice.
"First of all, America is not my brother. Second of all, yes. He is missing. You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?" England asked.
"Unfortunately, I haven't seen America for a couple of months. Und I haven't seen mein kleiner bruder since before the meeting a few days ago," Prussia said.
"So. . . All three of them are missing?" France asked.
"That's what I understand, bastard," Romano responded.
"Somebody is kidnapping the little brothers of the world," France despaired.
"Speaking of, where's Canada?" England asked. No one knew the answer.
LET'S HAVE A PARTY THERE'S A FULL MOON IN THE SKY IT'S THE HOUR OF THE WOLF AND I DON'T WANNA DIE
America lay in the bed Rome had given him, wide awake and thinking about tomorrow. He was struck by the sudden crash of a ceramic pot near the door. As if someone had been trying to enter the room and hadn't known it was there. He sat up quietly and reached under the bed to where he kept his actual clothing, and the gun he always carried with him. His other hand crept to the small table beside the bed and grabbed his glasses so he could see better. The moon shone through the open window and cast a faint light into the large room. America swung his feet out of bed and quietly stood up.
He made his way to where the pot had shattered, stepping carefully so as not to cut his foot on a sharp piece of pottery. He kept his gun ready, though pointed down at the floor. He didn't want to shoot. He only had three full clips, two in the guns he carried and one extra in his pants pocket. He didn't want to waste a shot on a wild animal that wouldn't hurt him.
"Who is there?" America demanded. There was a whisper of words that America didn't catch. Like a name carried on the wind from a far away place. There was a movement out of the corner of his eye and America spun, raising his gun and readying to shoot. America squinted his eyes, though he could see nothing more. No movement. No sound. Nothing. America lowered his gun and carefully made his way back to his bed, placing his gun and glasses on the bedside table and crawling back under the covers. He closed his eyes, electing to think nothing more of it till the next day.
I'M SO HAPPY DANCING WHILE THE GRIM REAPER CUTS CUTS CUTS BUT HE CAN'T CUT ME
Wow! It took me forever to update this! I am so sorry, you guys. I've kind of. . . Fallen out of this fandom? I'm back now, and I promise that I am working on my other stories. Anyway~ Yeah. This chapter is a bit shorter than the first part, but next chapter will be longer. Promise!
Oh! Okay. So I really want you guys to review? Like? I read all reviews and I try to respond to as many of them as I can, and reviews are super important to me and actually can influence a big part of the story so. . . Yeah. Reviews make me happy, even if they're all just screaming at me for not updating.
I am trying to get back into this fandom, and I promise that I am working on my other APH stories.
Until Next Time, this is ID saying; That's All Folks!