Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. If I did would I be sat here in my pyjamas writing fanfiction? Actually I probably would – but I would make this into a multi-million pound blockbuster movie...
Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited (they all mean a lot and keep me updating): Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, 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) and all my anonymous readers.
Warnings: Brief mentions of OCs
Chapter 26 – Bound to You
Warsaw, Poland
"I've met bread with a higher IQ than you." And "I've worn dresses with more intelligence than you." Were both statements uttered by an increasingly dismayed and irritated KGB officer tied to a small Italian.
"Aw that is not fair, pretty girl!" Romano interjected as they both struggled against the tight bonds holding them. Their hands and feet were tied and then Russia had had them bound together, back to back.
"Stop calling me that!"
They shuffled around and Miss Bollockoff tried to reach into the pocket of her jacket where she told Romano, there was a knife.
"Ah si, but no gun?"
"A gun is not going to help us, is it?" she said much exasperated. ('Unless I shoot you,' she thought.)
"Ah si, I see..." Romano shuffled and wriggled along with her.
"See? See? What?" The KGB Major gave up and tried direct instruction, "Your right..."
"I know... si..."
"No... your right... go to your right..."
"Ah si..."
This time Miss Bollockoff descended to shouting, "YOUR RIGHT!"
"There is no need to shout," Romano pouted.
Eventually, after much shuffling and wriggling they were finally face to face – a little too close for Miss Bollockoff's comfort.
"You are very pretty, Miss... er..." Romano gazed into the Russian's blue eyes, "I like your eyes."
"You can't remember my name, can you?" she asked, but was momentarily lost for a bit in the Italian's deep amber eyes. If he wasn't so stupid, inane, so obviously a ladies' man and incompetent she might have actually... no, she thought, I'm on a mission. I'm a highly trained professional, an officer of the Russian Secret Service.
"It's-a Sophia!" Romano finally said triumphantly and reached forward and kissed her – again.
"Svetlana!" the Major muffled against Romano's lips, but he couldn't hear her.
Warsaw City Centre
Sweden and Finland pulled up at the red traffic lights, both were on the look-out for two vehicles – Sweden's Volvo and a psychedelic VW Campervan. Purely by coincidence they found both – parked practically next to each other. Or, in the case of the Volvo, abandoned.
Sweden leapt out of the car and strode up to what used to be his immaculately-kept car. What he now saw was, quite frankly, a wreck. He kicked the passenger door in a rare outburst of pure rage – usually only Denmark could elicit such a response from the large Swede and the car responded by collapsing on its wheels.
"I am going to kill that Russian!" Sweden growled.
Finland got out of the hire car and followed his husband, standing next to him, gently rubbing his broad back and then turning, he saw an awfully garish paintjob.
"Ber, look..." the Finn said.
"What? Is it Braginski? Because if it is..." Berwald didn't finish what he was going to do to Russia when he saw him because he followed Tino's pointing finger to the VW Campervan.
Sweden was usually a quiet, gentle giant... until he was ired that is. And now he was well and truly annoyed. His Viking heritage was usually, by social convention, buried under a layer of stoicism and politeness. It usually only reared its head when Denmark was charging around the house, threatening to invade some poor southern Nation. However now, having come all this way and found his car having been vandalised by his psychotic neighbour, Russia, he was well on his way to getting out his broadsword and wreaking havoc.
Then they heard the unmistakable sound of their 'son' singing a jolly little ditty 'White Cliffs of Dover', bizarrely to a Ukrainian folk tune.
"Peter!" Tino yelled and ran in the direction of the music.
Viktor, the tall Ukrainian in charge of the 'band' saw the small Finnish man and the tall, angry looking Swedish man charging towards them, but knew that his band didn't have time to gather their instruments and jump in the van. He resigned himself to his fate.
"Peter!" Tino grabbed Sealand into a hug, "We were so worried. Why did you run away?"
Sealand struggled against Finland's embrace, "Mom! I'm okay..." he really didn't want his new friends to think he was a mummy's boy. This could ruin his whole new entertainment career.
"You're obviously not!" Finland turned and looked admonishingly at the remaining members of the band.
He was astonished when a mini-skirted young Swedish girl rubbed Peter's head, "He's such a love and I think it's awful how he was treated at home by that awful Uncle Den," she said.
Berwald was less interested in this than in the tall Ukrainian who was hiding under a large felt hat and putting his guitar away.
"Viktor Braginski!" he said and grabbed the young man.
"Mr Sweden, look... I can explain..." Viktor said hurriedly.
"B...B...Braginski?" Sealand looked in horror at the Ukrainian, "Are you Russia's son?" he said in awe.
Sweden didn't give him time to explain, "Yr m'thr will be hearing 'bout this," he said.
Finland then realised why the tall, blond-haired young man was so familiar, "... and I'll tell Mr Russia!" he said.
"Not Uncle Vanya! I just saw him and..."
"You knew who Peter was, you must have done... why didn't you bring him home?" Tino said.
"Well... he kept telling us about this awful Uncle Den, which I thought must be Denmark. And I thought poor kid – having to live with that idiot and he was perfect for this job. We've made loads of money – he looks so cute... although he really needs to learn some new songs..." Viktor tried to explain while Berwald had him by the throat.
Viktor, despite appearances to the contrary, was a gentle, placid soul and totally at odds with his family. A startling mixture of his mother, Ukraine's, looks and his uncle's build and with absolutely none of his aunt Bela's temper and no aptitude for fighting, he had taken to wandering Europe with his travelling band. His mother thought he was in agricultural college, and had been for the last ten years.
Tino considered this, it actually made sense. Anyone being forced to live with Denmark would seriously think of running away – indeed, he himself had thought about not going home after a day at work.
Sweden released the Ukrainian – to his band members' relief, "Hmmm," was all he said. Whether this was a good response to Viktor's reply or not is unsure.
"So... you're not Mr Russia's son?" Peter asked, as Viktor started handing out the shares from the takings that had been thrown in the open guitar case.
"Nyet, I'm Kiev, Ukraine's eldest son. Mr Russia's my uncle and B...B...Belarus..." here Viktor stammered his aunt's name, "... is my auntie."
"Did you say you saw Mr Russia?" Finland asked.
"Erm... I did?" Viktor suddenly appeared very reserved and stopped talking.
"Yes, you did," Sweden said and loomed at him. Viktor was as tall as Sweden and as heavily-built but, unlike his uncle, lacked any aggressive fighting tendencies whatsoever. He had grown up on his mother's farm and over the centuries had learnt it was better to keep out of his mother's siblings' business.
"Erm... I might have..." he said lamely, backing away slowly.
"So Ivan is here in Warsaw?" Finland said.
"Well..." Viktor frowned, thinking hard. He didn't really want to be involved in his uncle's business. He'd seen his uncle Vanya and knew all hell would break loose if Russia had seen him when he was actually playing truant from college. Plus, if his Uncle wanted to go around invading small countries, what was it to do with him? He'd fought in various wars alongside his uncle, aunt and mother, but hated fighting. He wasn't a coward by any means, but by nature was a gentle soul who had hated killing and felt that he wasn't really cut out to be a personification of a city, region and certainly not nation. All he ever wanted to do was ... dance.
"Ivan's in tr'ble... look at my car..." Berwald pointed at what now remained of his Volvo.
"Hmm..." Viktor frowned. Probably, he thought, it was best to say nothing at all.
"Perhaps he's gone to Poland's house?" Finland suggested.
"We'll go there," Sweden said shortly, "He can pay," he added.
"Who, Poland? I doubt if Feliks will pay to have your car fixed, Ber," Tino pointed out.
"No, Ivan."
"Right-o, mum, dad... let's go..." Peter said and jumped in his parents' hire car. The longer they were away from home, the longer away from school, he thought.
When they arrived at Poland's place, Russia, Latvia, Poland, Lithuania and 'Epicstonia' had left for the airport. However, Denmark and Prussia hadn't. They were arguing in the driveway.
"Aw, man, I thought this was going to be fun... a road trip through Europe paid for by Russkie dude, man. Loadsa girls and beer, you said," Denmark was berating.
"I know, man... but come on. I could be a Nation again... Germany... get in! This awesome painting dude shows us – the world will then know that I, the great Prussia, exists and no-one – those un-awesome fucking Nations can't do nothing about it, man."
Finland shook his head as he heard this account, "Tut tut, a double negative, Gilbert," he said.
"Stop swearing," Sweden told him.
"Aw man, it's Barney and Betty Rubble..." Prussia said.
"Stop calling us that. You, Denmark - you were supposed to be looking after Peter. All you were supposed to do was get him to school... but no, you couldn't do that, could you?" Tino went right up to Denmark and yelled in his face.
Denmark stepped back from the smaller Nation and pointed at Gilbert, "It was his fault!"
"It bloody well wasn't! It was dude chick's!"
"Santa won't be visiting either of you!" Finland told them.
Denmark looked absolutely appalled at this news, "You're joking! Aw, man. I've been really good this year... I haven't left America unconscious anywhere this year and I haven't tried to invade boring old England for ages... It's not fair!"
Sweden ignored him, "Where's Ivan?" he said crossly.
"Big commie dude bastard fucked off to Vienna," Prussia said, lighting up a cigarette. He too was now rather annoyed at the idea of no visit from Santa... not that he believed in any of that 'kiddie crap'.
Sweden stepped forward, took the cigarette from Gilbert's mouth, crushed it between his fingers and said, "Stop swearing."
Gilbert was about to protest but caught the look on Berwald's face. He'd already been punched by one big, six foot tall angry Nation, he really didn't want to be punched by another.
"Right, we're going home! You, Denmark are coming with us..." Finland said, "I've had enough of this."
Sweden and Denmark both protested.
"I need t'see Ivan," Sweden rumbled.
"I'm on holiday with dude Gil!"
Finland ignored them both, "Get in that car, both of you... Peter should be at school, I need to get back to work and you, Matthias..." (Denmark always knew it was a bad sign when Finland used his human name) "... you are going to get a job. Santa needs more packers – you can help wrapping parcels and packing ... it's only two weeks until Christmas."
Denmark looked absolutely appalled, "A job!" In all his centuries of existence, he had never been in bona-fide paid employment. And he didn't think it was time to start now.
"Kesese! You guys kill me! Bye then, Den! I'll see you soon – when I'm back to being King of Germanic Awesomeness, I might just let you visit me and bask in my ultimate awesome presence."
Denmark was thrown bodily into the car by Sweden, who decided that he had better follow his wife's instructions. He would deal with Russia later, he decided.
"Haha! You've got to get a job..." Peter sang happily. He had to go and suffer double geography tomorrow, but at least his 'Uncle Den' would be equally uncomfortable and not sat watching cartoons all day drinking beer.
"Shaddup, kid," Den said grumpily, sat in the back seat with Peter. He waved forlornly at Prussia.
Prussia waved back. He was alone – again, but he was used to it. Of course he didn't need his 'gang'. He didn't need dude chick or dude Den... although they'd had some fun, he thought. He smiled a little at the remembrance of Latvia finding she was pregnant – by fat commie dude no less, the chaos in the restaurant, in the pharmacy, their totally awesome road trip.
"I don't need them... I'm going to be the most awesome Germany..." he mumbled.
Warsaw Airport
"Flight 862 to Vienna is delayed for two hours due to a mechanical fault." The tannoy told them.
"Fight 862? What fight?" Russia asked, looking around with wide eyes and starting to get up.
Latvia pulled him back down. Being handcuffed to Russia was not on her top 10 most enjoyable things to do. (Other things she'd done with Russia were though...)
"Sit down, Vanya. It's flight not fight..."
Honestly, she'd been dragged along through the airport terminal whilst they'd rushed to the departure gate and several times she'd told him to slow down. She'd had to run to keep up with his long stride. He also kept forgetting that she was attached to him and several times she found herself lifted in the air by one arm. By alternating with punching him on the arm and patting him on the head (she had to stand on tip-toe to do this) when he did remember, she had managed to not be dragged along the floor and battered and bruised. She'd considered telling him about the baby – that surely should make him stop and think, but then thought about his obvious possessiveness already, she paused.
"Right, that's it. Let's go home," Poland said and picked up his duty free.
"No, Pol. We are going to Vienna to sort out this mess that you caused," Toris told him.
Estonia would have agreed with him – if he wasn't surrounded by twittering girls (and a few men) all asking him for his autograph and asking him what film had they seen him in.
Estonia just really wanted to go home now and back to Ukraine, but the thought of an expensive painting – still unsold – attracted him. $50 million? He made a quick calculation. He could actually afford that and decided that if it came to the crunch, he would buy the thing, keep it for a few years and sell it for a massive profit. He could be the hero for a change. The only thing was, how could he explain away the fact that he had that amount of ready cash? His war pension as a Corporal in the Soviet Red Army under General Braginski certainly did not amount to that much.
Truth to be told, Estonia was starting to get a little fed up of being 'sexy'. He wondered actually how France coped with it. The final straw was when the security guard had pinched his bottom.
And being sexy meant no-one took him seriously. When he'd tried to book them in on the flight, the check-in girl had just stared dreamily into his eyes. Even when he'd lost his temper, the girl had just sighed even more.
Russia didn't have this problem. Mr Pipe saw to that and they were upgraded to VIP 1st class seats.
"Can't you just unlock the handcuffs so I can go to the bathroom?" Latvia had pleaded.
"Nyet..." Russia said it in his annoying sing-song voice and smiled warmly at her, ruffling her hair.
"I know but I really need to go..." Latvia said.
Russia frowned. She'd been to the toilet three times in the past two hours. He'd manoeuvred himself quite successfully in Pol's large, garishly pink bathroom so that he had his back to her and had hummed loudly to give her some (in his head) privacy. Then he'd – much to her embarrassment – tried to help her with her underclothes. She'd managed to smack his hand away as he said he was 'helping her with her feminine undergarments'. But the actuality of going into a public ladies toilet was a different matter.
"Are you alright, little Aija? You've been going to the loo a lot..." he asked her, genuinely worried.
"Women's problems," she said and this time, she was the one to pull him up and drag him to the ladies loos.
As it happened, Poland was also going in.
"You're not a girl!" Latvia told him, loudly.
"How do you know?" Pol said, "I can be who I want to be... what gives you the right to tell anyone who they are or aren't?"
"I'm just stating a fact. You're a man..."
Russia laughed behind her, his free arm wrapped around her waist. She shrugged him off and glared at him.
"Well, it doesn't say men aren't allowed..." Poland pointed out.
Latvia shook her head and turned to Russia, "Unlock these cuffs now," she told him.
"Nyet. I can go in with you."
"Oh..." Latvia thought about this, her hands on her hips – meaning one of Russia's hands was also on her hip as well – which seemed to please him and it looked like the other was going to join it, making him smile happily and she felt... well, weird, wobbly and slightly annoyed.
"... So that means you're gender confused as well?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.
Russia stopped smiling and fished out the key quickly, frowning, he unlocked the cuffs but then smiled. "I'll wait here..." he said.
Latvia ignored him, rubbed her wrist and went in after Poland.
"Smart move," Poland said as he entered a cubicle.
Latvia snarled, "Shut the fuck up," she said.
"Wooah there, little Latty-kins. I ain't got you handcuffed to Braginski. What's your problem anyway? I thought you two were you know...?" Poland asked her from the next cubicle.
"What?" Latvia snarled.
"Oh sweetie, pass me some toilet paper..."
She did.
"Well, sweetie," Poland continued, "I thought you two got it together in the war and were long-lost lovers and all that.. and then again in Vienna the other week. Is it not going well, sweetie? Was big bad Braginski big and bad?"
"What?" Latvia asked, completely baffled.
"Was Braginski crap in bed?" Poland asked and then, alarmingly stood on the toilet seat and craned over the top of the cubicle walls at her.
Latvia hurriedly pulled up her 'feminine under-garments', "I don't know, we were never in a bed," she answered.
"O... M...G... so it was at Rod's place?" Poland asked her, ignoring the tutting and outraged looks from the other users of the convenience.
Latvia sighed. Poland really had no shame whatsoever. She unlocked the cubicle, stepped out and started washing her hands.
"So come on, Latty sweetie, fess up," Poland danced around her, spraying her with water.
"It was in the stable..."
"Haha, this is priceless! You little devil you... and who'd have thought Braginski had it in him? I'm absolutely amazed he knew what he was doing... hahaha!"
Poland said all this very loudly.
Latvia winced and dried her hands, trying desperately to pretend that the small cross-dressing man in the sharp designer suit was not with her.
"... and now he won't let you go, eh?" Poland asked her.
She nodded and felt tears well up.
Poland's broad happy smile shifted and he gently took her in his arms and cuddled her. He glared at the outraged looks on the other convenience users' faces, "Take a hike, bitches," he said, his voice with a hint of steel. The toilets emptied.
"...I don't know what to do, Pol..." she said lamely. It felt very odd being hugged by someone wearing a skirt – even if the Pole did look bloody good in one.
"Come on, sweetie. You tell your Auntie Pol all about it..."
"I'm ... I'm ... pregnant," Latvia gave a sigh of relief that she'd told someone – someone fairly, almost sane and not just those two goons Gil and Den.
"Wooah there, honey!" Poland stepped back and looked into her eyes, "Aw sweetie... are you sure?" Poland asked gently.
She nodded, feeling tears springing to her eyes, "Yes, why shouldn't I be sure?"
"Is it Braginski's?" Poland asked, carefully.
"Of course! How many bloody men do you think I've slept with?" Latvia was outraged.
"Well, Braginski's not exactly that conversant in the bedroom department. I mean I'm amazed he even knew what it was for..."
Latvia gave him a punch and headed out of the door.
Poland stopped her, "Have you told him?" he asked her, "And if not, why not?"
"No... and... well.. if he's like this with me now, what will he be like when he finds I'm pregnant? And besides the last kid he had he sold her to Mr America..." Latvia dried her tears. Man up, Latvia, she told herself. You're going to be a mother – of a Nation, no less – pull yourself together.
"Latty-kins, I've known the big idiot for nigh on four centuries and he really is the big, bad wolf..."
Latvia sighed and nodded and was about to say something when Poland, rather dramatically she thought, put a finger on her lips, "... but deep down, honey, he's a big soft sod. Did you not see him cry at Bambi? I mean, come on, sweetie... oh yes, you weren't there... And Alaska... yes, he had no choice, sweetie. I remember Liet telling me about that. Braginski almost didn't let her go. And then he was useless for months after. His government made him sell her. And then he only let her go when Alfred said he'd bring her up like one of his own. Honestly, he's not a bad father really. Have you ever met Siberia?"
Latvia shook her head and was about to say something else, but couldn't get a word in.
"Siberia's one big bad son of a dude... you wouldn't mess with him, but Braginski did a good job with him. All on his own as well..."
"... I didn't know anything about..." Latvia was about to say 'any other children', but Poland was clearly on a roll. A group of women came into the toilets, but took one look at Poland's stern face – Latvia had never seen him look so serious – and hurried out.
"... You could do a lot worse, sweetie. I mean most of the male Nations are complete arseholes, honey."
Latvia was about to point out that he himself was a male Nation, but again, Poland continued, almost without breath, "... apart from Liet of course. He's mine, honey. Not that bitch Natalya's," Poland finally seemed to stop talking and looked her up and down, "Well? Have you finished? I mean, honey, we've been in here ages..."
Prussia sped along the city centre in his most awesome van which did, absolutely did not, have an un-awesome stink about it.
A decision had been made. He, the most awesome Nation that had ever lived in the history of Nations – even counting Grandpa Rome who Prussia secretly thought sounded like an un-awesome old guy, was going to rescue his dudes, reclaim his title of most awesome dude-ist Nation there ever was, reveal himself to the world – surely he would be the spokesman of Becks beer, and would be fending women off left, right and centre.
Flight 862 (or Fight 862 as Russia erroneously thought) to Vienna
Prussia really did wonder why he hadn't just driven all the way to Vienna, except it would have taken... oh he didn't know... loads of hours anyway. By the time he'd got there the painting would have been gone and so would have his chances of multiple interviews with the world's press about 'how to be a successful nation'. Instead he was here, on this flight, having rescued Den at some traffic lights – the gormless Dane jumping out of Sweden and Finland's hire car and jumping in his awesome van and they'd sped off before that equally gormless Swede (although Pru would never say this to Berwald's face) had figured.
But he wasn't even sat in comfort, drinking beer, farting and spraying peanuts everywhere as he normally did on aeroplanes. No, he was stuck in the aeroplane toilet cubicle with gormless Den. When he'd told Den to shut up and be quiet as they'd seen fat commie bastard being totally un-awesome in first class, not because he was scared, but because he didn't want Russia to have the heads-up before he rescued dude chick, Den had yelled, 'Why?' and they'd crammed themselves in the toilet. Unfortunately, they found they couldn't unlock the damned door.
Den did not seem to find any of this unusual and had whistled, done his 'business', which had made Gilbert almost retch – he'd had enough of the big Dane's toilet habits to last him a life-time. The guy had no aim whatsoever. But at least he wasn't wearing a Viking helmet, a traffic cone or carrying his axe (pardon the pun).
"Have you always been this stupid? Or have you taken lessons?" Gilbert asked him.
Denmark considered this, quite seriously, his big blond head tilted and then answered, truthfully, "I took lessons, ja! Hey, I had a King called Gorm once!"
Latvia, practically sat on Russia's lap, Ivan's lips nuzzling her neck watched, mouth agape as her two 'rescuers' bundled themselves into the tiny toilet cubicle ... and didn't come back out. Poland, across the aisle from her, leaned across and whispered, "Hey Latty sweetie, did you see Gil and Den? What a pair of losers..." She nodded, laughing.
"Wut?" Russia asked. But to be fair, he was on cloud nine, he had Latvia snuggled up next to him and all was well in the world.
Two rows behind them were a full row of Elvis impersonators and behind them, a row of shaven-headed young men with Swastika tattoos – all glaring at the big Russian with murder in their eyes.
Author's Notes:
Viktor Braginski (aka Kiev) is an OC created by VengefulCat – she kindly gave me permission to use him. Did anyone notice that he also makes a guest appearance in a chapter of A Day In the Life? Also Siberia is also an OC created by VengefulCat and is Russia's son.
It's true – there was a King Gorm the Old of Denmark.
Next Chapter: silliness in Toys R Us and how to buy a Nation, oh and another lost family member turns up...