Entitled: Taken to Extremes
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Length: 2400 words
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia and etc.
Notes: The bunny made me do it.

part 0: in which everyone very wisely does not bet on the Italians

At the starting line, nations paired up, the gun was fired, and thousands of spectators were left coughing in the billows of dust and exhaust fumes. Silently, the world watched as its representatives tore through the beginning of a cross-country track so grueling, it would take hours to navigate.

An anticipatory hush fell over them all.

"Yeah," someone said loudly, "My money's on the Mexican."

part i: in which Lovino has road rage and Antonio takes in the scenery

Romano ground his teeth for what had to have been the fourth time in two minutes. At his side, taking the steering wheel, Antonio whistled a jaunty tune, driving leisurely. He flipped the blinker, and began to turn when he was abruptly cut off by Greece—who didn't even notice.

Romano's already simmering temper abruptly boiled over.


Spain cooed sweetly, stalling for no particular reason other than to admire the scenery, "You really should think of your blood pressure, Lovinito."


Spain rolled down the window and poked his head out, "Try it, Lovinito! It's such a lovely breeze!" He sighed blissfully, oblivious to the long line of cars stalled behind him. Cars including those driven by old grandmothers and eighteen-wheelers.

Romano kicked at the dashboard furiously. The airbag went off in his face.

part ii: in which Germany is trying to do things seriously, and Italy intervenes

They were making good time. Germany checked his rearview mirror and accelerated slightly—watching his opponent fall back in the distance. He allowed himself a grim smile. At this rate, their victory was secured—

"Germany, Germany!" Italy tugged on his sleeve. Germany kept his eyes glued on the road, and spoke only out of the corner of his mouth.


"…I'm hungry!" Italy wailed. A sense of deep foreboding stole over the German man.

"Well. Yes, but, I'm a little busy right now—" he cut off and quailed under the awesome power of Italy's pout.

"Pasta!" Italy sobbed, "How long it has been! Our separation has been like the darkest of winters! I—I cannot even remember the taste of you anymore!"

Germany quietly broke into a sweat. "Erm. Italy. You had pasta for breakfast this morning—"

"I FEEL FAINT!" Italy shrilled. Germany slunk down into his seat.

"…Well." He mumbled. "Maybe we could—no. No, we can't—"

But it was too late, and both of them knew it. Italy closed in, "Hey, hey, Germany…"


"We could get—French fries." His voice dropped to a caressing whisper. Germany's hands tightened around the wheel.

"S-stop it."

"And! And hash browns and salt and—lots of salt and beer and—"

Germany abruptly veered off the road.

"Ve!" Italy beamed at him. The poor man ground to a halt and hid his face in his hands.

"Just—make the order to go."

part iii: in which Prussia and Hungary are the worst back seat drivers in the history of ever

Austria was steadily putting along, graciously allowing others the right of way, and slowing down at every yellow light.

In the backseat, (for both of them had been banished from shotgun) Prussia and Hungary were dying slow, painful deaths.

"Darling!" Hungary said, her voice brittle and cheerful, "Could you—you know, this is a race, so maybe we should just…speed things up a tad?"

Austria adjusted his spectacles and ignored her.

From the waist up, Prussia hung out the window, swaying slightly in the wind. "Hey, Austria! It's good to see that just like everything else about you, you even drive like a woman."

Hungary seized him by the belt and pulled him sharply backwards. "You. What are you even doing in here?"

He sneered at her, "Like you'd be able to win without the help of the awesome me."

Austria drew in a sharp, shaking breath, and switched on the radio. Happy, trilling flute music frolicked through the car, and he felt himself beginning to relax.

"…What the fuck is this, an advertisement for princess camp?"

That did it.

The car swerved so sharply that both Hungary and Prussia screeched and clung to their seatbelts. With an air of a woman twice scorned, Austria rose majestically from his car seat, forgot about his seatbelt, briefly choked, freed himself, and then spun to face them.

"I'm going for a walk," he said, voice quivering with rage, and then stalked off furiously. Both passengers stared at his retreating figure in silence.

"…Well, now that he's gone, get up front," Hungary chirped, and with a bunching of her skirts, had clambered into the driver's seat. Prussia stared at her. She revved the engine.


"Shouldn't you be—running after him?" he prompted. Hungary stared at her ex-husband's retreating back for a moment, and then shrugged.

"He'll still be sulking by the time we get back. Now, come on, you useless lump," she passed him a handgun, "You take out their tires."

Slowly, he grinned.

"TAKE THAT, YOU BASTARDS!" the two of them consecutively shrieked with glee, blowing past some extremely pissed off South Americans.

part iv: in which China, Korea and Japan make some road kill

"Hey, can I drive?"

"You don't know how to drive, aru!" China snapped. Korea, who either didn't hear him or pretended not to, made a casual snatch at the steering wheel. China jerked it to the side, as if this would somehow keep the other man away, when all that really happened was the three of them nearly plunging to their deaths.

"Woo-hoo! Man, I'm going to build an amusement park like this!" Korea cheered. China was quietly having a heart attack.


"Wow, nii-san is so scary when he's angry!" Korea laughed furiously, and then began systematically kicking the back of China's seat. China attempted to perform some deep meditation and, yet again, nearly steered them into the path of a bus.

"Japan, would you please stop drinking tea and help me out here, aru?" China warbled.

Japan slowly set down his tea cup, and turned to face his elder brother. His aura was positively icy. China swallowed his mad urge to apologize.

"It is so kind of you," Japan said quietly, "To have agreed to hand over your leadership to Korea. I am touched by your display of brotherly affection." After a moment of quiet thought, he gently and shortly applauded.

China stared at him in horror, ignoring Korea's ecstatic cries. The little bastard was stabbing him in the back—again.

The three of them abruptly lurched forwards as the car collided with something. Japan's tea flew through the air and somehow landed on China's head. The eldest flailed in jasmine-scented dismay.

"What happened?" Korea peeped. Japan cautiously peered over the windshield.

"…I think we hit something." he leaned further forwards, and froze.

"What? What is it?" Korea nagged. Very slowly, Japan turned towards them, his voice gone numb. His eyes looked suspiciously watery.

"It's a panda."

After several seconds of horrified silence, China burst into tears.

part v: in which Russia is creepy and England and America are thoroughly intimidated

"No, god damn it, GIVE ME THE MAP—!"

"You're supposed to be driving!" England planted one foot on America's face and attempted to shove him off, "Get off!"

"Just because you can't drive doesn't mean you have to be so—" America whined, and made another desperate lunge for the map. England jerked away.

"I can too drive, you bloody twat!" he snapped indignantly. "It's not my fault everyone in your country drives on the wrong side of the road! Stupid America!"

After a moment of fiercely glaring at one another, both of them turned sulkily towards the road.

"…We're lost," America said after a moment. England sniffed.

"You're lost."

"You don't know where we are either!"

"Well, you're driving!"

"Well, you were in charge of the map!"

And there was much grinding of the teeth.

"We could," England said stiffly, after several moments had passed and vultures had begun to circle over head, "Stop. And ask for directions."

America looked deeply offended, "Don't be ridiculous, a hero is never lost!"

Several more minutes passed. America turned on the radio. England just as quickly turned it back off.


"Ah, America and England!" a voice from just beyond the passenger window came. Both of them turned. Russia waved towards them cheerfully.

The two of them shifted imperceptible closer together. "Hey, Russia!" America eyeballed the huge nation suspiciously, "You all alone?"

England abruptly began chanting banishment spells. America gripped the steering wheel more tightly and did his best to ignore him.

Russia's chin tipped down, his eyes gleamed, and his smile became truly sinister. "Not for long," he purred.

Both nations stared at him quite mutely, before America launched himself at England, and they clung quite firmly to one another, screaming bloody murder.

"DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE!" England screeched, and America slammed the acceleration.

part vi: in which France both wins and looses

After narrowly dodging Prussia and Hungary, (who had opted not to cross the finish line, but instead assembled a barricade and sniped the competition) America and England sat frozen in their seats, staring straight ahead of them. There was a distinctive lack of fanfare.

"…Did we just win?"

"I think," England sat up a little straighter, "I think we did."

They both stared at one another in terrified awe. England cleared his throat. "Well. This has been very eventful, and I believe I should thank on behalf of your contribution to this victory—" he made an extremely strangled noise then, as America leaned over and wrapped him in one of his too-strong hugs. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"We won!" America yelled ecstatically, "We won! Us!"

England was rendered quite speechless. Due to both a lack of oxygen and words. Tentatively, he raised one hand and patted America's broad shoulders, before gradually resting it there, and then just—

It was so easy.

And then for one horrible, god-awful moment, he thought he was crying. England froze up—he hadn't been that sentimental, had he? He'd been counting on doing this later—

"This is so beautiful!" France wailed from the backseat, "Such—such rekindling of love!" he was steadily undressing. England was almost purple from rage. "Allow me—allow your elder brother to join you in this great, harmonious union—!"

America attempted to disentangle himself. England, now so overcome with fury he had lost all of his senses, only clung on tighter.

"I need some roses!" France called out the car window, with his hands blocking the essentials, "Pronto!"

part vii: in which Austria gives up on life and those not involved sympathize

Austria, who now felt sufficient time had passed to regain his composure, minced from his brooding place and returned to the highway. He was surprised to find not the vehicle he had arrived in, but a police car. His steps slowed.

Hungary, to her credit, looked horribly embarrassed. Prussia just looked like he was having the time of his life.

"Sir," the police officer approached him, looking quite disapproving even though Austria was quite certain he'd done nothing wrong (recently.) "These two say they're with you."

"We should do this more often," Prussia insisted eagerly. He was practically hoping, his delight was so profound. Hungary hid her face in her shackled-hands.

"I'd like a word with them." Austria ground out, and stepped around the officer. Hungary moaned a little. He stared at her quite sternly, and waited.

"I just," she muttered petulantly, "I just got a bit…carried away—"

"She was awesome!"

"WILL YOU BE QUIET?!" Hungary roared. Austria stared at her. She looked deeply ashamed of herself. "Well," she narrowed her eyes at Prussia, "It was all his fault."

Prussia gaped at her, "My fault? You were the one with a gun in her purse!"

"It was for self defense!"

"Self defense includes three rounds of ammunition?"

"…It could be gang rape!"

"The woman's with me," Austria said to the police officer, "You can dispose of the other one."