Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.
Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, Vengeful Cat and all my anonymous readers.
Warnings: sexual innuendo, France, Pru-Den
Chapter 13 – Vi är dom tuffaste
A small caravan on an estate on the outskirts of Vienna, Austria - Tuesday evening
"What are your terms of surrender?" Captain Arthur Kirkland said to Roderich Edelstein.
"Was los ist?" Austria was pressed up against the wall of his caravan with a gun pressed against his head. It was not the best ending to what had turned out to be a rubbish day.
"Never mind all that Kraut rubbish. Where's that big, bloody, blond Kraut idiot?" Captain Kirkland continued (presumably he meant Ludwig).
As they'd arrived at Austria's mansion, he'd immediately taken charge of the situation. Obviously, the RAF had made a direct hit on the 'Nazi stronghold' and the 'Nazi scum' were about to surrender. Many Germans were already busy at work he saw, approvingly, as POWs. He was rather surprised, however, at the lack of guards overseeing them. After all, they were Germans and not Italians and so could not be relied upon to just make a run for it. He'd rummaged through his suitcase and found his olive green World War II uniform and pulled it on. 'Can't negotiate a surrender in civvies,' he thought.
Austria looked around for help, his face registering total confusion.
Hungary shook her head, "What the hell is going on?" she said.
"Ah Hungary. It's a shame you're on the side of this nefarious bunch. I thought better of you..." England said.
"What? I did what I thought was best for my country. I didn't want to declare war," Hungary was outraged.
"I suppose you're going to surrender now?" Arthur continued.
"Nein, get your hands off me, you ungracious oaf," Austria said.
"You're better off surrendering to us," here, England waved a hand at a very amused France and a confused America, "Than Russia. Because when he gets here..." England let the threat hang.
Austria went white and Hungary grabbed her frying pan, "If that bloody big idiot comes charging in again I'll give him what for," she said, threateningly.
Belarus growled at this, but had to admit a certain admiration for the Hungarian.
Austria put a restraining arm on her and then stood in front of her protectively, "This isn't war," he said quietly.
America shook his head, 'Europeans! What a strange bunch?' he thought, and turned to France, "Explain, frog-face," he said.
France, who had been enjoying all this immensely, said, "Honhonhon, Arthur thinks he is back in World War Two."
"Well that's plainly obvious," Austria said, pushing his spectacles up his nose and glaring in his most imperious manner at the Englishman.
"Will you surrender, good Sir?" England said.
"Honhonhon, I bet he will, he has surrendered himself to me many times!" France said.
"You can just shut your mouth!" Austria exclaimed, appalled (however he didn't deny the fact).
Hungary made to hit France, but stopped as England trained the gun on her, "I don't like shooting girlies, it's just not cricket, even if you are going to hit France. But he's my ally and by God, I will if I have to," he said.
Austria shoved Hungary behind him protectively and squared up to England, "You have no right to barge into my caravan and wave guns around!"
"Will you submit?" England asked, still waving the pistol around dangerously.
"Honhonhon, oh yes! If he doesn't, I will!" France said, absolutely enthralled and almost swooning.
"I wasn't asking you!" England turned on him and was wrestled to the floor by America.
"Sorry dude Arthur, but can't have you waving guns around, that's my job," America said, taking the pistol from him.
Hungary stepped out from behind Austria and then smacked her ex-husband on the arm, "Why didn't you do that?" she asked indignantly.
"Well, in case you didn't notice I had a gun up my nose!" Austria replied, utterly appalled.
Hungary was disappointed and stroked America's arm, craftily feeling his bicep, "Oooh Alfred! Have you been working out?"
"Actually, I haven't! But I have been playing this cool light sabre training game. I'm onto Jedi Level 10!" Alfred said, dragging England to his feet.
France grabbed England's arms and held him fast.
England writhed, "Unhand me, you foppish twit! I will not marry you!"
"Maybe I should hit him again?" America asked, looking at Belarus for permission. Much as he loved England – as a type of brother/friend/mentor whatever, he actually found he rather liked hitting him.
Hungary wielded her frying pan and said demonically, "Let me do that..."
Belarus held up a hand, "Anyone touches him and they are dead. I will call big brother Russia and believe me, Mr Austria, Miss Hungary, America... world war two will look like a walk in the park," she said, and then added for good measure, "France, get your hands out of Arthur's pants!"
"Ah mon dieu! He was about to surrender to me!" France protested.
"No, I bloody well was not! You bloody pervert!" England protested.
"I was not even going to hit anyone!" Austria protested.
"That's always your bloody problem, Rod," Hungary said ruefully.
Belarus lost it – the plot that is, "Everybody shut up! Now! France, get your hands off my Arthur. America, if you hit him again then my brother will hit you so hard you will be back in 1944."
"Actually it's 1945," England piped up.
Belarus burst into tears.
Hungary lowered her frying pan, Austria sighed heavily and wiped his glasses, America shook his head and then whispered to Austria, "We'll explain..." and as France coughed, said hurriedly, nodding to France, "Well, he'll explain in a bit."
England tentatively put his arms around Belarus and pulled her gently to his chest, "Oh Miss Belarus. I'm so sorry."
Belarus broke into renewed sobs and flung her arms around his neck, bawling on his uniform.
"It must have been so hard for you..." Arthur continued, concern in his green eyes.
France sniggered, "Honhonhon. I bet it was! No wonder she is pregnant!" he said and was then hauled out by the scruff of his neck by America.
Hungary was about to say something, but was also pulled out of the door by Austria, "Come on, Liz, better leave them to it."
"Oh Arthur!" Belarus sniffed.
"I know, I know," England gently patted her back, "It's been difficult on all of us. It's been a long and bloody war. Your country got hit hard didn't it? Don't worry, we're near the end now and I'm sure Ivan is on his way."
Belarus clung to England. "It's not that... oh Arthur... I think I'm pregnant!" she sobbed, his uniform now soaked.
England gently stroked her hair, "Oh, poor Miss Belarus. Tell me who did this? We'll get the scoundrel..."
Belarus sniffed hard and looked up into his clear green eyes, "Oh Arthur... you don't remember?"
Helsinki, Finland
A slightly short man (although you couldn't tell as he was sat in a car), muffled up in an overcoat, with a ridiculously large fake moustache underlining a remarkably cute nose (well a certain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo thought so), bad-tempered amber eyes with dark circles around them hidden behind dark glasses was watching the road. "Come on, you vodka bastard," Romano said. He was getting fed up of this. Why hadn't the big Russian died? What kind of person, demon, survives an explosion?
His eyes behind the dark glasses widened as a beaten up black Volga came into view, swept past him and pulled into the driveway opposite.
"Ha! Got you, big idiota!" Romano exclaimed, to no-one in particular. Actually Romano was quite pleased. He'd thought that Russia had been unharmed by his explosion, but that didn't look to be the case. The Russian appeared to have a hand bandaged up and blood was seeping from the wound and it looked as if Estonia was driving.
Estonia was driving, but if Romano thought Russia had been wounded by his actions, then he was sadly mistaken.
It wasn't because of Russia's wounded hand that Estonia was driving. They'd been stopped just over the Finnish-Russian border by the Finnish police. The reason? Several really. Russia drove like a demon at the best of times – around Leningrad he was well known to local police, his government number plates being the only reason he was not pulled over every time he drove.
However, here on the open highway Russia pumped the accelerator – pushing the battered car up to 100 miles per hour (much like Pol in his Ferrari). But, as a driver, Russia was not in the same league as Pol. Russia's first driving lessons had been in army trucks. And he drove the Volga as if he were driving an army truck, swerving along the road, forcing many cars to cross lanes to avoid him. If he could have, he would have driven over them. Much of this was due to the fact that he was easily distracted and could not keep his eyes on the road. He had a dangerous habit of chatting to Estonia with his face turned to the other Nation. All Estonia could do was close his eyes.
The only thought running through Russia's head was to get to Latvia (the person not the country) as quickly as possible and fix whatever was wrong, promise her anything and bring her back, safe in his arms. So when the blue flashing light appeared in his rear view mirror he saw it as an unwelcome obstruction.
"You have to stop, Sir," Estonia said.
"Nyet," Russia said most decisively.
"You have to. Besides they'll outrun us. We're in a 6 year old Volga, with bust suspension, a broken bumper and a cracked windscreen."
Instead of pulling over like normal, sane people, Russia slammed his size 14 boot on the brake and Estonia, if it weren't for Russia's restraining arm across his chest, would have sailed through the already broken windscreen.
"Can I see your licence?" the young Finnish policeman said, tapping on Russia's window.
Russia considered this. He actually didn't have a valid driving licence that covered cars. He had an army licence that covered trucks, tanks and, weirdly, tractors.
The young policeman – he actually looked about 12 years old – tapped on the glass again.
Russia made an executive decision and punched the policeman through the window – not deigning to bother to wind it down first. Glass shattered and the young cop fell like a sack of potatoes.
Russia smiled grimly, "Sorry, officer. Not today," he said chirpily and sped off.
It was several miles down the road before Estonia got Russia to stop the car and they swapped over. Estonia finally relaxed, gave his scarf to Russia to bind his wounded hand and they set off at a much more leisurely pace to Tino's house.
Meanwhile on the Viking Line Ferry, Helsinki to Tallinn
It had taken Latvia and Den twenty minutes to get Prussia to leave his beloved van deep in the bowels of the car ferry.
"I'll see you later, don't worry I'll be back soon," Pru had whispered to the steering wheel and then had patted the bonnet.
It had been Den who had driven them to the ferry, Pru having been unconscious from Latvia's punch for much of the way and Pru had been horrified that someone else had driven his awesome van. He decided that although Den was awesome, he wasn't nearly awesome enough to drive his van.
Latvia actually agreed with him. She wasn't going to punch Prussia again. As erratic as his driving was, he was far better by a mile than Den who jigged the steering wheel in time to the music, shouted out of the window at random pedestrians (particularly women), honked the horn at very large, angry looking lorry drivers, skidded around corners and didn't seem to believe that there was a gear above first or second. Therefore the engine whined in protest as did the clutch.
By the time they got on the ferry, Latvia felt sick again and as the boat started to move, this feeling accelerated and she spent much of the two hour crossing dry-heaving over the side. She already hated being pregnant, if pregnant she was. But she actually felt pregnant, her boobs hurt, she had to pee every half an hour, she felt sick and her hormones were on a par with PMT x 100.
It was probably a good job that Russia had not caught up with her just yet, as it was, she felt like punching the big Russian in the head - he was the one who got her into this mess.
Prussia spent much of the voyage trying to chat up the girl in the gift shop (and telling her about his 'five metres'), the same girl who'd sold Den a child's Viking helmet and a rubber axe. He got nowhere – the awesome Gilbert that is. Unlike Denmark, he got everywhere and as Latvia laid herself down on a bench on deck and closed her eyes, trying to calm her rolling stomach, the big Dane skidded past her, yelling "Yay! We're off to invade Estonia... I'm the King of Northern Europe and nothing shall stand in my way!" Latvia would have stood in his way, however, sea-sickness and pregnancy sickness had took its toll and she ignored the big loon as he ran to the front of the boat, held his rubber axe aloft and shouted, "I will return Estonia to Danmark!"
Nobody took any notice, perhaps the ferry from Helsinki to Tallinn was used to blond nut-jobs. Only a group of boy scouts took any notice and approached Den, asking for his autograph, "Bad Santa!" they chanted – he'd become a bit of an urban playground legend.
Sealand however, was far more proactive. He'd managed to insinuate himself onto the Captain's Bridge where the crew thought he must be on some school trip. He then proceeded to tell them how to operate the ship, how the instruments they used were 'out of date' and that he had 'over 30 years maritime experience' and that if they needed 'advice' or someone 'to skipper the ship' he would help out. He was ejected rather quickly and told to go back to his teacher.
Helsinki, Finland
Russia rang the doorbell and then hammered on the door impatiently. "Come on, come on..." he muttered. He was about to use the services of Mr Pipe when the door was flung open.
A tall Swedish man with glasses hanging off one ear, his hair looked like it had never seen a comb, bloodshot eyes and a stained pink apron around his waist. All in all, it looked as if Sweden really, really needed a good night's sleep. As it happened, Russia and Estonia had just woken him from a much needed nap.
"Do you realise I had just got to sleep?" Berwald demanded.
"Nyet, are you ill? Why are you asleep in the afternoon?" Russia asked. It was a daft question coming from Russia of all people, who could fall asleep at anytime and anywhere.
"I am not ill," Berwald said, through gritted teeth. Having just got rid of Den, and to a lesser degree, Peter, he'd managed to have an hour of undisturbed peace and now this...
"You don't have children do you?"
"Nyet, but I would like lots!" Russia said chirpily (unbeknownst to him, his little Latvia was going to make this wish come partially true). He pushed past the Swede and went into the house, calling "Latviaaaa!" as he went.
"Ha! You can have mine," Sweden said, "I mean it, when they get back, take them... please..." said a voice borne of desperation.
Estonia sighed, he really hoped that Latvia was here. He'd never seen his boss so frantic and he'd got little snatches of Russia's feelings for Raivis and although Estonia's cynical thoughts mainly were for his credit card, he also wanted to see Russia happy. A happy Russia meant a happy household which meant a happy Ukraine, who he decided, with a sudden jolt and something he certainly had never bargained on, he was in love with.
"Where is she?" Russia asked the Swede.
Estonia backed off. He could see, even if Russia was oblivious, that Berwald was on his way into a bad mood. Intimidating anyway, in appearance even more so than Russia as he often rarely said anything and often did not smile (Russia's appearance was the opposite – all big, wide childish smiles and sing-song voice), Sweden was now stood eye to eye with Russia and was not looking pleased.
"She's gone," Berwald said.
"Where to?"
"Tallin."
Russia, who was usually far more garrulous, switched to the same one word clipped tone as Sweden, "Alone?" he asked.
"No."
Russia's eyebrows shot up, "Wut?"
"Gilbert, Mathias and Peter."
Russia snarled at this. Latvia's choice of travelling companions was clearly unacceptable, "They have kidnapped her?"
Berwald frowned at this. In his opinion it did not look as if Latvia was being forced to go/do anything.
At that moment, Russi-cat shot out of the carnage that was Finland's living room (which had the appearance of someone having thrown a grenade inside and shut the door) and jumped into Russia's arms.
"Boris! Here you are! Did Aija take you with her for company?" Russia asked the cat. The cat replied with a 'meow'. "Did she miss me?" he asked Berwald.
Sweden frowned, as far as he knew Latvia had been gone less than 24 hours.
"I'm home," came a call and Santa walked in. "Oh..." Finland's cheery countenance changed to worry at the sight of Russia and Sweden obviously both in a bad mood.
Estonia smiled. He was always pleased to see Santa... or Finland.
"Are you looking for Latvia?" Santa asked and then regretted it.
Russia grabbed him by the arms, "What do you know about it? Is she okay?" he asked desperately.
Sweden did not appreciate Russia grabbing his 'wife'.
"Yer can let go of Tino, Ivan," he said.
Russia set Tino down, but matched Sweden's glares with some of his own.
Before it could turn into a huge, unending, glaring match, Tino spoke up, edging his way between the two six foot giants (well, giant in comparison with the diminutive Santa), "She was okay, but a little bit upset," Tino said, choosing his words with care.
"Upset? Why? What has that Prussian done to her? Awesome me, indeed..." Russia said the words 'awesome me' in a very camp, lispy German accent. He then brought a fist down on the kitchen worktop – which subsequently cracked from end to end.
This was too much for Berwald, "I built that only last month!" he said, his eyes blazing and he looked set to go into full Viking mode.
Tino and Eduard exchanged glances. The former pulled a bottle of beer out of the fridge for his 'husband' whilst Eduard, ever prepared, pulled a bottle of vodka out of his briefcase for Russia.
"Right! Everyone calm down! Or... or..." here Tino struggled to think, "No-one will be getting a visit from Santa!"
Berwald just frowned and glugged his beer and was already pulling his tape measure out from his tool belt to measure the damaged worktop.
Russia looked at Tino in horror, "Noooo!" he said, his purple eyes wide with childish disbelief, "I've been really good this year!"
Tino shook his head, his visits to the Nations were, he told them, dependent on they're being 'good'. It need not be said that France had not been visited by Santa for many years.
Russia's idea of 'good' meant he hadn't killed/maimed too many people/Nations that year.
"Why did she leave me? Has Prussia taken her? Kidnapped her?" Russia's purple eyes blazed. Although it was easier to think that she hadn't left of her own accord, the idea of Prussia taking her by force made his fists itch.
Tino sat the big Russian down and started, quietly and methodically to dress Russia's wounded hand.
"She was okay," he reassured Russia, "Gilbert hadn't hurt her."
Berwald grunted at this, his own opinion of Gilbert wasn't much higher than Russia's.
"She just needed..." here Tino hesitated. He couldn't tell Russia that Latvia suspected she was pregnant. She'd told him in confidence, and, like a priest, Santa should never betray a confidence, "She needed space," he said finally.
"Space? Space?" Russia spluttered, "Isn't Russia big enough?" (Clearly he meant the country and not... oh well, Lord knows what France would have made of that line.)
Russia was oblivious to the weirdness of his utterance. Berwald merely raised an eyebrow, Estonia almost choked. Tino, who had formerly lived with Russia long enough to understand the Slavic Nation's lapses into childish innocence, merely ignored him.
"And why is Denmark with them?" Russia aimed this question at the Swede, "He is supposed to live here with you, nyet? You have charge of him, nyet? Big stupid Dane is not allowed out on his own or live on his own."
'Hmm, who does that sound like?' Estonia thought, looking at his boss.
Berwald, who was having none of this, said, "I asked them to get him out of the house for a few hours. You should try living with him. I haven't slept in a week. Beer, Button Moon, an unhealthy obsession with Scooby Doo, shouting obscenities at passers-by..."
Estonia nodded as repressed memories of life living under the reign of Denmark resurfaced.
"I asked them to drop Peter at school," Berwald said.
"If they have hurt my little Aija..." Russia's fist closed on the vodka bottle he was gripping and it shattered, vodka spilling across the table. "Vodkaaaa!" he said, suddenly upset.
"Den's a big harmless loon, he won't hurt her and Gilbert is all mouth," Berwald said decisively. It was his opinion that Latvia would have got the measure of the Prussian and the Dane and, eerily echoing Gilbert's thoughts that forty years living with Russia would toughen up the gentlest person – surely she would be as hard as nails by now.
Before Russia could comment further on Prussia and Denmark's moral bankruptcy, there was a knock on the door.
Tino opened it to a scrawny thin woman, her hair badly in need of a wash, a beaky nose that would not have looked out of place on a snowman, very small beady eyes and the type of dress sense that hinted that she'd either got dressed in a wind tunnel, in the dark or probably both.
She held up a battered ID card, "Ms Germaine Pike, Truancy Officer," she emphasised the word 'Ms'.
Tino scrunched his nose. They'd had many run-ins with 'Ms Pike' or 'Witchface' as Peter called her or 'Ms Germoline Dyke' as Den had called her – calling into question the official's sexuality purely by the fact that she'd not reacted favourably to the sight of the Dane shirtless first thing in the morning (Den's litmus test).
"Peter is not at school again. That's the fourth time this month, Mr Vainamoinen," she said, raising an eyebrow at Tino's Santa outfit.
Tino sighed, "His Uncle Den was supposed to drop him off this morning."
"Is this the same oaf that called me a scarecrow?"
"Hmmm..."
"I appreciate Mr Vainamoinen that your living arrangements are unconventional."
Tino frowned at this, "Bloody homophobe," he thought as he saw the woman craning her neck to look around him (he kept her on the doorstep). The conversation filtering through from the kitchen was odd, to say the least. Russia sounded as if he were talking to himself. Berwald, Tino summised correctly, was probably already fixing the worktop whilst grunting in reply and Estonia would not answer unless he had to.
"Poor vodka... I should not get so angry with vodka... or Toris, or Esty or my little Aija. I miss her... I really do. She is so warm and soft. Like a little sunflower and I should take care of her like a little flower..." Russia was chirping to himself, his voice sounding sad and quite lonely.
Tino hoped that didn't mean Russia was going to put her in a pot and pour water on her.
As 'Ms Pike' expounded on the importance of regular school attendance and regulations, Tino had a brainwave. He had a small misgiving and a pang of guilt, but then shook it off.
Over the next hour, Ms Germaine Pike, or she was called by her new combatant, 'Gremlin Spike' or 'Germ Pile', was subjected to 'What is wrong with education today' – a speech/rant by Russia.
His views of state education were interesting to say the least. Russia did not like officials of any shape or form. Tino almost, almost felt sorry for her as Russia regaled the woman on his own school days and subsequent teenage years. Especially as he described the Golden Horde and as he accentuated a particularly gruelling day in the life of young Ivan (complete in short trousers in temperatures of minus 30 – which would go some way to explaining Russia's psyche) with Mr Pipe swishing within a hair's breadth of the woman's cranium.
"Children should be allowed to be children. They are the future. They are very precious, nyet? School is not good. Schoolyard bullies..." here Ivan broke off and then looked at his pipe in sudden remembrance and he grinned demonically, "Bullies should be made an example of, da?"
The woman snatched her handbag up and fled, vowing not to bother Peter Kirkland again. Clearly, dealing with a six foot two mentally unstable Russian who waved a faucet pipe around and ranted about the deficiencies of the Russian state education system interspersed with stories of decapitating Mongol Raiders was obviously not something that was included in her job description.
Outside in the driveway, Romano scrambled out from under Russia's car and brushed the dirt off his hands. 'That should do it,' he thought.
Over in Tallinn, Pru, Den and Latvia raced to find a motel for the night, "I have to get to a television..." Den wailed in desperation. Latvia punched him, her stomach had finally stopped churning but her irritation was still high. Prussia ignored them, he was fed up of 'dude chick' and her continuous 'leaking' – if it wasn't coming out of one end, it was coming out of another. What they failed to realise was that they'd left a certain truanting schoolboy behind.
Author's Notes:
Vi är dom tuffaste – We are the toughest (I got this from the Swedish song by Nanne Grönvall/video on youtube by Skadipirate), I thought it was fitting for the glare-down between Sweden and Russia.
Was los ist – German for what is going on?
POWs – prisoners of war
Hungary fought on the side of the Axis during the Second World War and declared war on the Soviet Union and took part in the invasion of the Soviet Union, however, by 1943 they sought to surrender to the Allies. Hungary had a bad time of it – they were then occupied by German forces and then by the Soviets.
1938 - Austria was incorporated into Nazi Germany and ceased to exist as an independent country for a while. After the war, Austria was divided up into British, French, American and Soviet zones (like Germany) and Vienna was surrounded at the time by the Soviet zone – until 1955 when Austria became an independent country again.
Civvies – civilian clothes
Belarus was one of the hardest hit Soviet republics during WWII, it's reckoned about one third of the country's population were casualties.
As stated before I'm not anti-German, but WWII must have had a major impact on the Nations somehow and you can't just ignore it. So any Germans reading – references to 'Kraut' and 'Nazi' are not intended to offend. (Besides most ordinary Germans weren't Nazis...)
I think Arthur Kirkland has many personalities hidden away, depending on time frame. And we haven't seen them all yet. Let's see – pirate!England, Shakespeare England, WWII England...hmmm who's next?
Viking Line Ferry – that's its actual name... how awesome is that?
Danmark – Danish term for Denmark
Estonia came under the dominion of the King of Denmark from 1219 to 1346.
Finland was an autonomous Duchy under the Russian Empire from 1809 to 1917.
Russia 1-0 Truancy Officer (I don't like Education officials – can you tell?)
Next Chapter: This chapter over-ran again... so next chapter it's six Nations share a caravan, Pru-Den-Latvia silliness (with lots of sexual innuendo), we find out what it means to be in the Awesome Trio and Lily's makeover
Feel free to review/comment/PM etc