Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.
Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , 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, VengefulCat (my beta reader who checks my stuff – she's very modest and has only just allowed me to put that) and all my anonymous readers. If I've missed anyone, please PM me and tell me off.
Warnings: Violence of the silly variety, France, Scotland, Hippy!Germany
Chapter 16 - Unstoppable
Helsinki, Finland
Sweden and Finland has spent a sleepless night worrying over their little Peter.
"He could be anywhere. Poor child... Oh Ber, he's only a boy!"
"I know m'wife," Sweden answered, and poured another coffee.
The doorbell rang.
"That'll be him," Finland jumped up hopefully.
"...or the truancy officer," Sweden shuddered.
They both looked at each other in horror.
It was neither. Sweden opened the door to a tall, dark-haired woman with piercing blue eyes. She wore a business-like suit and had a no-nonsense look on her face. "Mr Sweden?" she asked.
Sweden stepped back. The woman was human and not a Nation, micronation, principality or capital city. So how did she know who he was? Only a few members of the Nations' secret services and officials knew their secret.
"Hmmm," Sweden hummed not knowing what to say.
"Major Svetlana Bollockoff, 2nd Directorate of the KGB," she held up her ID card.
Sweden took it from her.
"Is it that truancy officer?" Finland asked, his eyes had huge bags under them.
They'd been to the ferry and enquired about Peter and watched countless CCTV videos of ferry crossings. They watched with disgust as a tall, moronic-looking Dane had charged up and down the deck of the ferry with a rubber axe shouting about being the 'King of Northern Europe' and then watched with equal distaste as an equally un-evolved-looking specimen with silver hair and red eyes attempted to chat up a bored looking shop girl. But of Peter there was no sign.
"It's the KGB," Sweden told his 'wife'.
"Oh, phew."
Miss Bollockoff raised an eyebrow. It was an unusual response and not one she usually got when she knocked on people's doors.
"Can I come in?" she asked.
"No," Sweden said.
That was an unusual response as well.
"You've lost your... erm... son," she said (she'd read the whole file on the Nations very quickly last night after being given her dubious assignment), "and we've lost... erm misplaced our Nation, perhaps we can help each other?"
"I don't help the KGB," Sweden said, his eyes narrowing. Let them get Russia back and good luck, he thought.
"Perhaps if you tell me where our Nation went, I can tell you where your son is?"
Sweden didn't like the way she said 'son'.
Finland was about to say something, but was stopped by his 'husband'.
"There is a difference. Our Peter is a small, innocent boy who'd never hurt a fly. Your Nation is a six foot psycho."
Bollockoff didn't argue with this.
"They went to Tallinn," Finland told her, "Now where's Peter? And don't say he's in Tallinn, we know where the ferry went but...?"
"They're heading for Warsaw," she told him.
"They? Who are they?" Finland said, appalled. "And how do you know that?"
"That's classified."
"Who's he with?"
"That's classified."
"How do we know you're telling us the truth? Why should we trust you?"
Bollockoff, who was already heading for her car, turned to look at them. Whatever anyone said about her, she was always direct. Ruthless, cold, utterly professional and at the top of her game – that's why she'd been picked for this assignment (and the fact that she was a woman, her bosses guessing that Russia may be more amenable to a woman). "You don't," she said simply and got in her car, started the engine and drove past the burnt out, wrecked remains of Russia's Volga and headed for the ferry on Russia's trail.
"We have to go after him." Finland was already pulling on his coat and packing a case with spare clothes for him and his husband.
Tallinn Police Station
Russia the Nation sat in the 'holding area' in plastic handcuffs, his huge frame filling the small plastic bucket chair. He had no idea where Estonia had disappeared to, the latter Nation saying simply that he would get him out of it. For some reason, it was just Russia who had been arrested.
The list of reasons had been quite impressive – careless driving, driving without due care and attention, dangerous driving (these were all the same, Russia thought and he was tempted to argue – he thought his driving was excellent), exceeding the speed limit, failing to comply with traffic light signals, failing to comply with a 'stop' sign, failing to comply with a traffic direction sign... the list was four pages long altogether.
Russia sighed, he'd been so close to rescuing his precious sunflower from the evil clutches of his arch-nemesis, Prussia, silly driving regulations were nothing. Here he was stuck in a police station, smelling of seaweed (he stuck his head under his shirt and sniffed tentatively) in silly flimsy little handcuffs.
Estonia, meanwhile, had signed up three police officers to a nice timeshare apartment in Gotland that hadn't been built yet. He returned to where Russia was sat – a horrid purple aura shimmering around the large Nation.
"I don't like these people," Russia grumbled, "They are keeping me from my Aija."
A large police sergeant approached and took hold of Russia's arm, "Right, time to take down your details," the man said.
No-one was exactly sure what happened next, Estonia certainly didn't as he spent much of the next twenty minutes with his hands over his eyes.
Russia snapped the handcuffs as if they were made of play-doh and then took the sergeant's head and slammed it into a wall, taking the plaster off.
One officer was stapled to his desk where he sat, whilst another was fatally injured with a broken bic biro.
Russia had decided he didn't want to be 'processed', 'have his details taken' or be 'booked'.
Russia, like an unstoppable force of nature, headed for the door – the police were nothing more than barriers to his rescuing of his beloved. Three policemen blocked his exit – all holding batons. Estonia closed his eyes. Russia turned to his 'Esty' and asked for his coat – this meant business.
The policemen all glanced at one another – they were armed with batons and in one case, a taser gun – they were all young and fit and were against just one guy – a big guy they all agreed, but to the ridiculously young and naive police officers, Russia looked old and distinctly out of shape.
Esty gingerly handed Russia his coat and the Arctic Nation fumbled in his pockets. The police watched with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, ignoring their superior's orders to 'grab him'. Russia couldn't find Mr Pipe but pulled out a knitting needle instead.
One of the officers laughed out loud, "Are you going to knit us a sweater?" he said laughing at Russia's spaciness.
Estonia winced. It was never ever a good idea to laugh at Russia's choice of weapons.
The police paid dearly. As one approached Russia, telling him that 'they wouldn't hurt him if he came quietly', said officer found a knitting needle embedded in his arm.
"I only knit scarves," Russia told him.
The man dropped to his knees, his horrified colleagues gasped and then attacked Russia – bravely, but ultimately foolishly. Russia did not like people in uniforms, be they Russian, Estonian and certainly not German. But as these men weren't German and were just 'kids', he decided to be fairly 'lenient'.
He face-palmed one and then spun around and smashed the other's head into the photocopier and shoved the lid down, breaking the machine and no doubt negating the warranty.
Several other policemen were now arriving. Russia reached into his coat and pulled out a ... sunflower. Much as Russia liked flowers, even he didn't think they made very good weapons and stood for a full minute as policemen dived on him whilst he tried to remember why it was in his pocket. Oh yes, he was going to give it to Latvia when he caught up with her.
By the time he found Mr Pipe, three policemen were clinging to his back and raining baton blows on his head and back. Russia threw one offending person off – the man's body slamming into a nearby desk reducing it to matchsticks. He then put his pipe to good use.
Estonia winced at the destruction wrought on his citizens. He interrupted Russia just as the large Nation was slamming someone's head into the water cooler and told him he was going to get the car and bring it to the entrance. Estonia was thankful that he was so inconspicuous as he crept out. Actually the only conspicuous person was the six foot two inch Russian who was waving a metal faucet pipe around.
Estonia crept outside, found Sweden's Volvo which had 'Impounded by Tallinn Police' stickers all over it, hot-wired it and drove it around to the front entrance.
Russia stood like a survivor of an apocalypse and surveyed his handiwork. Bodies lay in heaps around him, many barely conscious and most were groaning. The only unharmed people were two female receptionists – one who was hiding under a desk, another radioing for help frantically (saying something about a big, psychopathic maniac). Russia ended this conversation with a pipe in the offending radio which he then handed wordlessly to the stunned woman.
Vienna, Austria
Anyone walking into Austria's still ruined dining room could be forgiven for thinking that they'd gone back in time to some forty years before and they were in the middle of World War Two. The Allied Nations – America, England, France and Belarus (obviously standing in for her brother) sat at one side of the table, whilst facing them was the Axis Powers (in England's eyes) – Austria (still grumbling that the war was over), Hungary and two new arrivals – Italy and Germany.
"So where's that bloody Jap?" England demanded. "I suppose he won't bloody surrender will he? I suppose he's going to do all that kami kami chameleon nonsense... or whatever."
"Kamikaze..." America butted in. "Dude Kiku's not here. He's on holiday visiting Taiwan, it's a cultural visit and..." this was the wrong thing to say.
"I bet he bloody is! Bloody took them over didn't he? Where's your bloody sixth fleet then?" England all but shouted.
America frowned at this. "I'm not sure..."
Belarus put a hand on England's arm. She would be relieved when this 'Tommy' England lost his memory and they got 'normal' England back. Even Shakespeare England had been better – at least he didn't go on about marching into Germany and kicking 'Nazi' arse.
Thankfully, Germany was not himself either. He was definitely not the Germany they all knew and... well not exactly loved (unless you count Feliciano) but respected. His clothing for a start was a complete change in direction. He wore a tie-dyed, loose cheesecloth shirt, pink linen pants, his hair uncut for over a month was straggly and actually curled down to his collar, having had no brylcreem on it for so long. He wore a CND peace sign around his neck and, for some reason, his fingernails were painted pink.
But what irritated Austria the most (Austria was in an extremely irritable mood today – having woken with a gun up his nostril telling him that he was a 'Kraut bastard' did not help, nor did Hungary throwing up the expensive bacon he'd cooked) was the flip-flops adorning Germany's large feet revealing equally pink, glittery nail polish on his toenails. He'd rather hoped that the appearance of Germany would bring order. He was wrong.
None of this seemed to bother the big German. He was dressed as the biggest hippy in the Western World and he didn't mind. This could be partly due to the strange cigarettes he was smoking – 'herbal' cigarettes that Italy had gotten from Netherlands - instead of his prescribed medication.
"Okay, dude Arthur, I'll take it from here," America said. "We need to sort out this... erm.. what was it again?"
"A painting by Da Vinci," Austria answered for him.
"A double agent?" England said.
France shook his head. He personally thought the whole thing hilarious. "Mon Angleterre... you are so funny."
"A dude?" Germany asked and waved two fingers in the peace sign.
Nobody thought they would ever live to see the day when Germany said the word 'dude' and did a peace sign.
America was, for once in his life, lost for words.
"Germany..." Italy hugged the German blissfully. Could life get any better?
America shook his head and finally found his voice, after shoving another bacon roll in his mouth, "Mmmffff, get that painting, dudes!"
"Stop eating with your bloody mouth full of food!" England shouted.
"It's not that easy. I do not know who has got the painting," Austria explained.
America sat down dejectedly, "Well, that's that then..." he said.
"You can't just give up!" Hungary said, "Where is your fighting spirit?"
"Don't say that..." Austria told her, and then added "...Too late." As England jumped up.
"Fighting spirit? I'll give you fighting spirit! We will fight them on the beaches, we will fight them in the air... we will never give up!"
Hungary stood up and wacked him around the head with her frying pan.
Belarus wailed, "Nooooo," and held the Englishman's prone body. She glared at the Hungarian, "You will pay for that," she told her and broke into a smatter of Belorussian and Russian.
"Oooh catfight!" France squealed happily, "Perhaps we could put them outside in the mud, non?"
France received a thump on the side of the head from Belarus and a scowl from Austria.
"Hell yeah!" America shouted and punched the air, but hurriedly sat down again when he saw the expressions on the two female Nations' faces.
"Peace, dude!" Germany said.
When England had finally been brought around, the meeting continued.
Everyone was relieved to find England was more... peaceable... in fact he seemed frankly benevolent and kind. He'd also changed out of his WWII khaki uniform and was wearing a long dark cloak with stars adorning it, a wizard hat and carried his wand.
"So, this painting... who's starring in it again?" America asked, as if the offending piece of art was a movie.
"Myself, Elizaveta, Antonio, Arthur, Feliciano and Romano of course," Austria started to say.
"Si, me and fratello posed for it," Feliciano smiled happily at the memory.
Austria shuddered. France snickered and was about to say something when he was silenced by a 'look' from Austria.
"... Gilbert, Ludwig..."
"Peace!" Germany said again.
"Ahem yes indeed, Sweden and Denmark... I think that's it oh and of course the bloody idiot who had it painted..." Austria finished and glared at France.
"It was beautiful, oh yes!"
"Why am I not in it?" America shouted, much disappointed. He was the Hero, a superpower, but at least, he thought, commie dude wasn't in it.
"You weren't around then," Austria explained.
"I did not know you then, I had not conquered you," France explained.
Austria all but exploded, as did Hungary and it was fortunate for France that England was now thinking he was a Welsh wizard.
"Right so where the hell is it?" America asked.
"Well if we knew that we wouldn't have called you lot in, would we?" Austria said, exasperated.
England waved his wand and a weird glow lit up the room, everyone jumped back nervously.
"Please don't tell me you're summoning fat commie bastard?" America said and received a glare from Belarus.
"Big brother is not fat, he is big-boned," she said.
However, Merlin England, the most powerful wizard ever known (apart from a certain wizard head-teacher living in an obscure Scottish castle) waved his wand and the glow shimmered above the table and started to take form. The assembled Nations watched breathlessly as the image started to appear.
"Woohoo, dude wizard has produced a home movie!" America yelled, jumping up and down in his seat.
He was shushed by Austria. Even Germany looked up from contemplating his next 'herbal' cigarette.
They watched with wide eyes as the ball-gowned form of Poland rifled through Austria's desk, took out several rolled-up canvases and shoved them in his suitcase.
"Well! That ... that... thief! He went through my drawers!" Austria said, utterly shocked as the image faded.
"Honhonhon, oh yes he did!" France giggled.
"Right, dudes, now we know where to go..." America concluded, rather prematurely everyone thought.
"...and that dress clashes with his shoes," Belarus announced.
Italy held up a hand, "Excuse me!" he said.
"What is it, Feliciano?" Austria asked irritably.
"I forget to give you this..." and he pushed a newspaper across the table at him.
Austria sighed and picked it up, "What is it, Feliciano? A new pasta recipe? Italy has beat Austria again in football? Honestly..." but then Austria's voice trailed off as he read the front page with growing horror.
"Lost Da Vinci Painting – The Nations – to fetch $50 million"
"Mein Gott!" Austria held his head in his hands.
"That means someone might buy it! So that's alright!" Feliciano said happily.
"Of course it's not alright!" Hungary interjected, "Anyone could get it... our secret will be out!"
"That's a helluva lot of money," America said, "That's more than my McDonalds expenses."
"I am sure Mr Austria has that much in his wallet, non?" France said.
"You can shut your mouth, you French idiot, if it wasn't for you..."
And the meeting went on...
Tallinn, Estonia
Ivan and Eduard had now been in a traffic jam for approximately half an hour. Estonia was extremely glad that he was driving, because otherwise Russia would probably have destroyed Sweden's car's steering wheel with his rage. He was currently in the passenger seat, chanting "kol kol kol" under his breath. Estonia wound his window down so he could stick his head out, being quite shocked at what he saw.
"What is it, Esty?" Ivan asked.
"Sir... it's..." Estonia wasn't sure if he should tell his boss what he could see. He could just tell him that there was a parade, or a riot, or something like that. But then Russia would ask about the parade, and the riot, and... "it's... a Neo-Nazi parade, sir..."
"Kol kol... I hate those guys." Ivan said simply. "There's a gap there, Esty. If you drive into it we might get closer to them and then I can give them a talking to, da?"
Estonia should refuse and stay put, he knows that. But, his own hatred for Neo-Nazis after what Germany did to him during World War II meant that he just nodded and started the engine. A few cars honked, but Estonia paid them no mind and continued to drive until he was almost in the crowd.
A very fat and ugly man with no hair on the top of his head (but rather a lot sticking out of his ears and nose) was doing some sort of speech in a German accent on a temporary stage. Nazi swastikas hung around him, the Estonian police were absent – no doubt most of them were in hospital - and so various men dressed in Estonian army uniforms were having to restrain the protesting crowd, who seemed to be trying to get at the man on the stage.
Russia, purple aura pulsating around him, strode straight through the crowd, simply pushing those who wouldn't move out of the way. The one man who was stupid (and brave) enough to try to stop him got whacked in the shin by Estonia's briefcase (the Baltic seeing the crowd and sensing that a business deal might be possible here).
Finally, Ivan made his way to the stage. The man speaking made a desperate attempt to defend himself, but Russia, still chanting "kol kol kol" pulled the microphone off the stand and strangled the man with the cord until content that he was no longer breathing.
He then said to the crowd "Privet. I am Ivan and I am Russian and I do not like Nazis. If you are a Nazi dickhead, my advice to you would be to go home and rethink your life choices and then stop making such a hash of your life. Or I will do bad things to you with this microphone, da?" He then smiled, bowed, and exited the stage. The crowd parted around him like the Red Sea and many people applauded.
Estonia, meanwhile, was handing out business cards and saying things such as "good afternoon, madam, please think of us when you next wish to buy a property," and "hello, sir, can I interest you in a timeshare? If so, call this number," until Russia picked him up by the back of his collar and dragged him back to the car.
"That was fun, da?" Russia said.
"Um, sure, sir..." Estonia replied.
"Drive, Esty, I want to catch up with Gilbert..."
Vienna
The Nations had finally come to an agreement. Merlin England was asked, they decided whilst he was still so magical, to try summoning Poland so that the Pole could tell them himself who he had sold the painting to.
Merlin England, however, was starting to wear off. It appeared that having so much magic packed into him was making the Englishman de-stabilised. Belarus was worried, particularly when the Englishman started levitating towards the ceiling and he started glowing.
However, Arthur was nothing if not brave and determined.
"Get that cross-dressing thief here, Arty dude!" America yelled.
So England drew his circle, ignoring the commentary.
"It looks more like an oval, non?"
... and then a pentagram.
"Dude, that's just creepy!"
... and the astrological signs and started humming, his voice rising and falling as he began the spell. "in the name of Daphne, Scooby, Fred, Shaggy, Velma, I summon thee, skirt-wearing Nation, to face your judgement... SHOW YOURSELF!" England commanded, thrusting his arms out in front of him.
There was a flash of blindingly red light (which caused England to squint a bit, Belarus to step back slightly and reach into her pocket for a knife, and France to exclaim "Mon Dieu!")
Once the light had dissipated, all that could be seen was a skirt and a mass of blond hair. "It's worked!" England said triumphantly.
England began rejoicing. He had finally finally summoned who he had meant to summon. But, the magic and his Merlin persona, as if on an expiry date, dissipated and he was... just Arthur again. Belarus flung her arms around him "Oh, Arthur!" she yelled, "You did it... it's..." she was about to say 'Poland' but clearly, although the Nation in front of them was wearing a 'skirt', and was a man, there the similarities ended.
"Ah cannae get BBC Ter!" Scotland shouted at England before throwing a TV remote at England and glaring in disgust.
"Oh, it's just you, Hamish." England sighed.
"Just me? Just me? Ah'll have ye know thur are people oot thur who would be glad ter see me! Ach, yer a pathetic excuse fer a nation. Ahm bloody glad ah took over, ah am. Where does tha keep tha Scotch, I cannae find it an' ah need mah Scotch." Scotland looked around, finally noticing where he was. "And where the bloody 'ell am I? As tha summoned me again? Bloody 'ell, man, ye cannae even do a summoning spell right. Yer just a wee jessie."
"Onhonhon, Monsieur Scotland 'as come by a secret entrance, non?" France chimed in. England elbowed him in the side, muttering something about perverted Frenchmen.
"Ach, it wouldn't be the first time, eh, Francey-pants?" Scotland said lewdly. England, deciding it was about time his brother went back home, began pushing on Scotland's head. "Alreight, alreight, ahm gooin. Bloody 'ell. Ah'll see thee."
The rest of the Nations sighed, and started to disperse. America went off to get some 'snacks', whilst Austria went to make coffee. Germany lit another cigarette.
Once Scotland was gone, England turned to France. "You there! Frog-face!"
"Oui, mon cher?"
"My brother, really? Is there anyone you haven't mounted?"
France sighed in reminiscence. "Actually, it was 'im that was doing ze mounting..."
"Bloody Hell, I didn't need to know that..."
"But I suppose... no." France appeared to think further. "Ah... wait. Ah... non. Ah... oh yes! Zer ees little Lily... oh, and Peter of course, and Iceland. Ozzer zan zat... non."
"Well I should bloody well think not, they're just kids!" England exclaimed, appalled.
"Of course, and I shall wait until zey are adults, oh yes!" France said lewdly and then added, "Oh and leetle Latvia... I have not... but one day when Russia is on his holidays..."
"Is that what you did with Alfred? You'd better not have touched him, or I swear I'll rip your balls off and-"
"Oh, non! Spare me!" France fell to his knees. "You must not 'urt leetle Francis! It was only zee one time, I swear! It was during 'iz war of independence..."
Alfred chose this moment to walk in with a plateful of cookies. "Alfred! You're back! That frog... that bloody frog... He hurt you, didn't he? Back then?"
Alfred's eyes went huge, and he almost dropped the plate. "I don't wanna talk about it, dude!"
Author's Notes:
Thanks to Chickenkitty for the idea of Ivan using a microphone as a weapon
Gotland – a small Swedish island in the Baltic Sea
'Tommy' – slang term for a British soldier in WWII
I got the chapter title from the song 'Unstoppable' by The Calling – inspired by Tamarutaca's fanmix of RussiaxLatvia.
Translation for Hamish:
Ah cannae get BBC Ter! - I cannot get BBC Two!
Ah'll have ye know thur are people oot thur who would be glad ter see me! Ach, yer a pathetic excuse fer a nation. Ahm bloody glad ah took over, ah am. Where does tha keep tha Scotch, I cannae find it an' ah need mah Scotch... And where the bloody 'ell am I? As tha summoned me again? Bloody 'ell, man, ye cannae even do a summoning spell right. Yer just a wee jessie.
I will have you know that there are people out there who would be glad to see me! You are a pathetic excuse for a nation. I'm bloody glad I took over, I am. Where do you keep your Scotch, I cannot find it and I need my Scotch. ... And where the bloody hell am I? Have you summoned me again? Bloody hell, man, you cannot even do a summon spell right. You are a small pathetic person.
Next Chapter: the return of the inimitable (and drunk) Dr Pumplenickelstein, France uses his dubious superpowers, some Pru-Den-Lat and of course Russia wrecks more destruction.
PS Anyone who read an earlier edition of this will have seen I put Van Gogh - I meant to put Da Vinci - thanks to Chattie 98 for pointing that out to me.