Disclaimer: If Axis Powers Hetalia were mine, I wouldn't need to write fanfics. If any of these songs were mine, I wouldn't be writing fanfics.

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Minimal fluff 09!

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Gangs, the Yakuza, and the Mafia, Oh My!

"America, this came for you."

America, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed in jeans and an undershirt, had been cleaning his prized white revolver (christened the White House) when his right-hand man/male girlfriend/secretary walked over to him in nothing but one of his T-shirts that hung off those skinny shoulders. Taking the card, America smirked, looking the latter up and down. "That looks good on you, England."

"Shut up. I don't know where my clothes went. You probably threw them out of the bloody room last night."

"Maybe." America decided not to mention how he had had those clothes off before they had stumbled into the cheap rented apartment's bedroom, that they were lying on the floor of the living room. Turning the card over in his hands, he put down the White House on the bedside table and read the fancy script.

It's time to establish who's really boss off these streets. Meet at the disclosed location in two nights or you'll be knocked off your territory.

"Someone's challenging the big dogs," England mused, leaning over America's shoulder. He, like America himself, had been inspecting his weapons of choice – a matching pair of derringers with what looked like bucking horses with wings on the holsters (they were unicorns, and unicorns were fierce, no matter what America said). He wasn't showy enough to name them but he was pretty damn proud of them the same.

America snorted, tucking the card into his jeans pocket. "We won't need the little guys then. We just show up, shoot around a bit, and these show-offs will lay off. They're dealing with the biggest gang this side of the hemisphere."

England hmm-ed as he returned to caring for his guns as America watched amusedly. The latter smirked behind his glasses he really didn't need as he reached over and wrapped his arms around England's skinnier-than-a-normal-male waist, pressing his nose against the mess of blonde hair that smelled slightly of gunpowder and shampoo. Almost simultaneously, he felt a barrel of a gun pressed into his chest, where his heart was. "You won't shoot," he murmured, talking into England's hair.

"Try me."

"The safety's on."

"It is not."

America smirked, hidden as he kept England in his arms. "You wouldn't shoot the big boss, would you?"

"We're supposed to be on the same level!"

"No…" America backed away to look at England's face, a mixture of annoyance and defiance. "You're the big boss's girlfriend, who hangs off his arms while doing major deals."

"Listen, you wanker, that was only once, just so you could get into that stupid escorts required club, alright? Don't let it get to your head." Pistol-whipping America against the side of his head, England squirmed away as the former reached to rub his head. "Sometimes I think you forget who's older here."

"I wasn't the one needing saving from a gang rape."

"You would be nothing without me!"

"Alright, alright." America knew what battles he could afford to lose, and this would be one, if he didn't want England to shoot at him when they met with these bold little punks. The only thing that mattered was that he (fine, they) were the heads of the biggest gang in these parts of the west. They menaced, yes, they plundered, check, they challenged and won. Rape, of course, was out of the question as England didn't think it was 'civilized' enough for a gang he was part of.

Oh, and he'd almost gotten gang raped as well.

--

"Aniki, I know I created challenges and everything, but this one is just blowing things out of the water. Which I also created."

"Korea, just give that to me."

Pouting, Korea handed over a pure white card to Japan, who had been getting ready to cook dinner. True, yakuza members (especially the boss, not to mention) weren't seen as being very culinary, but Japan liked partaking in this hobby of his.

And he'd already tried to let Korea cook. That had been more disastrous than when Korea had decided to coif his hair up to look more stereotype yakuza-y. Flipping over the card in his hands, he read the fancy script in red: Someone's getting too big for their boots. For a readjustment or a new pair in general, meet at the disclosed location at the disclosed time.

"Aniki, I thought we were the biggest gang of hooligans!" Korea cried. "There's someone bigger than us? That's impossible! I created big, so I should know!"

"Shut up, Korea. Obviously, it's some gang out there to challenge us." Too big for their boots? Did this challenger knew how hard it took him to raise their gang levels to what they were now? Especially with a partner as annoying as Korea? Maybe this guy didn't know what kind of hardships shaped Japan to who he was today. He'd show them.

"How many of our underlings should I call?"

"None. We'll take care of it."

"Whoa! The two man confrontation! I'll give the honor of creation to you this time, aniki!"

"Will you shut up?" Japan, abandoning the dinner task at hand ("Aniki! I thought you were going to cook dinner! I'm hungry!"), left the sanctity of the kitchen, abandoning his apron along the way (yakuza members can wear aprons without feeling ashamed, okay?). Walking through the halls of the dojo the yazuka called home, Japan promised himself he'd beat some sense into these brash kids who dared to challenge him. Yes, he had been told that with his intellect and family inheritance, he really could have gone on to do great things.

But what was the fun in that?

"Aniki, really. You need to cook dinner. You know I can't. Where're you going? You're not going to train right now, are you?"

"Korea, I said hush."

For once, the noisy teen did, opting to following quietly as Japan walked into one of the practice rooms and crossed it soundlessly. Normally in yakuza showdowns in his parts, he'd use a wooden sword, as his opponents were usually newbies who didn't know their place. He didn't want to kill potential followers and his goal wasn't to kill as many people as possible. All he wanted to do was stake his territory, make himself known, and settle into a peaceful (if possible) life. But now this card was attempting to destroy that plan.

"Korea," Japan said, grasping the sword that sat on the mantle at the head of the room.

"I thought you didn't want to talk to me," Korea whined.

Ignoring that childish reply, Japan unsheathed the sword, letting the sharp metal glint in the setting sun. Smiling satisfactedly, he turned, displaying the katana for Korea to see. Instantly, the boy started babbling again. "I made the first katana, you know. Really!"

Who was Korea trying to impress anyway? "Korea, are you ready to teach these kids a lesson?"

"Yes, but for your information, I was the one who created the idea of 'teaching lessons'."

--

"It's horrible, it's horrible, it's horrible!!"

Suddenly jolted out of his midday siesta, Romano sat up from the couch with a scowl. "What is so important that you have to run around the house screaming your head off?" he growled at his twin brother, who had just entered the room panting. "Make it good."

"It's horrible!"

"I heard you the first three times."

"No, you don't understand!" Feliciano looked close to tears. "It's so, so, so bad!"

Romano rolled his eyes, his anger giving way to impatience. "What is it that we can't 'take care' of?" By take care of, he meant throw around his mafia guns and shoot until he got his way. Or their way. Whichever.

"I don't think we can just go down there in suits and talk this over," Feliciano said, trembling as he looked at his brother. "I don't think we can pay our way out of this or even shoot our way out of this."

Romano looked surprised. "That's impossible. We're the fucking mafia, Romano."

"Yeah, I know. But this can't…" Feliciano broke off as he burst out in tears. Romano rolled his eyes. Whoever got it in their heads that Feliciano could be a good mafia boss must have been on really good crack. He'd never heard of a boss that cried all the time or giggled the rest of the time and refused to pick up a gun if he was hungry. Somehow, because they were twins and the next in line for the position, that entitled Romano to share the name of boss with Feliciano. Which he was fine with, as that meant less responsibility (in theory), but considering his brother's personality, it meant more problems.

"Stop crying for God's sake, you dolt! Now calm down and tell me what's wrong, dammit."

"Okay…" Sniffling loudly, Feliciano tried to compose himself. "I went down to get the mail, right? With Germany, since he follows me around everywhere. I don't know why you don't like Germany. I know he's my body guard and everything, but he really is a nice guy. I mean, just the other day…"

"You were going to get the mail?" Romano interrupted, trying to stay on point.

"Yes…and then I was going through the mail…and I saw flies for a sale over at the grocery store and some bills and a letter for you and a letter for me and a frequent fliers envelope…"

"Yes?"

"And…and…this!" Feliciano held up a little white card. "I found this and…it's horrible! It's terrible! And I don't think Germany or even Spain can help us out now!"

"Why would you have to mention him?" Romano grumbled, taking the card from Feliciano's hands. He had just spent hours trying to avoid that disgustingly clingy body guard of his, who liked to randomly belt out odes in the elder Vargas brother's name. He got that body guards had to have a kinship with the ones they were protecting, but that didn't mean downright obsession…

Then he read the card and even he had to call out. "Spain, dammit! Come over here!"

Pasta sucks. Come to the disclosed area in two days or we eat all your food.

--

"Where is this place?" England asked as he stared out the passenger seat window. They had been driving down this dark road for what seemed to be hours. "Remember, if you don't know where we're going, ask for directions."

"I'm a damn hero, England. Heroes don't need to ask for directions."

"Suit yourself. You'll just prolong the time until you deliver your 'ass kicking'."

"Shut up, England. The card said to meet in this warehouse behind this old factory. It's away from the city. Obviously. If there's any bloodshed, we don't want the coppers to find out." Smiling to himself, America abruptly floored the gas, sending them shooting toward a chained off collection of warehouses.

After England had gotten himself used to solid ground again, the two gang leaders made their way to a particularly rundown warehouse. The huge doors at the front are already half open and America reached out for it, slightly hesitant. England noticed this moment of indecisiveness and pushed his hand out of the way, reaching for the door himself. "Come on, the faster we get this over with, the faster we can go home."

"When we go home, can we…"

"Shut up!" England felt his face heat up as America chuckled behind him. Throwing the door open like one of his British conquest-hungry ancestors, England stormed into the warehouse with America behind him, the latter's hand ghosting over the White House. "Is anyone here?"

There was silence, then a figure in white stepped from the shadows. "Were you the ones calling us here?" Japan painted a rather frightening figure, dressed completely in white with dark eyes peering out from the cover of black bangs. The scant light reflected off the white, giving him the complexion of a ghost. England knew it would lead to trouble as soon as he felt America's hand grip his shoulder.

"I could ask you the same thing," England said coolly, flashing the white card.

Japan stared back, his hand already resting on the hilt of his katana. Korea spiraled out of nowhere, colliding painfully with him. "Hey! You two! I invented the element of surprise, so beware!" The two stumbled onto the floor, destroying the intimidating aura Japan had set up. America immediately removed his hand from England's shoulder.

"Hey! You two don't seem like bad people. What're you guys doing here?"

Pushing Korea off him and getting to his feet, Japan watched America warily. "We were called out here, same as you," he replied, holding up an identical card. "Who are you two?"

"Well, I'm America, the boss of the biggest gang this side of the west coast. Maybe you've heard of us? We're the Union. Oh, and this is my girlfriend, England."

"I'm not your bloody girlfriend!"

Japan stared at them. "So back at'cha…who are you guys?"

"My name is Japan, and I'm part of the yakuza in the east. It's our equivalent of the Union, you could say." The two groups stood a respectful distance away from each other. Korea struggled to his feet.

"We're the big dogs," he managed, trying to steal some of the limelight. "You know, we could totally crush you!"

"Don't pick fights," Japan warned.

"Well, that's strange," America said, his eyes narrowing. "Last time I checked, I…" He cleared his throat and corrected himself as England shot him a look of pure evil. "…we checked, we were the heads of the biggest crime group in the world."

There was an uneasy silence, and even Korea stopped blabbering to look at the Union leaders challengingly. The tense atmosphere was broken yet again as shouts could be heard from outside, where they instantly formed in the warehouse through the forms of identical young men.

"Alright, which one of you wrote this?"

"Romano! Romano, I'm scared! It's too dark here! Where's the light switch, where's the light switch?!"

The two pairs turned to the door. A pair of twins had crashed into the building, one hanging off the other's arm. Both looked more terrified than either would like to put on.

"I knew, I knew we should have let Germany and Spain come with us!" the clingy one was whining, looking positively close to tears. Gripping his brother's arm tighter, he turned to look at the four in front of them. "We're outnumbered! Outnumbered! I don't want to die now, Romano! Germany! Germany, help!"

"Shut up," Romano hissed, although he looked like he was trembling. "We can take care of them ourselves."

"But Romano, just because you didn't want Spain to come didn't mean you had to force me to leave Germany behind too! Oh, why did I argue with you until we couldn't bring anyone?! I'm scared of the dark and you're a horrible marksman…help, God, please, I didn't do anything wrong…"

"Feliciano, stop groveling!" Romano cleared his throat and began again. "I don't know who any of you are, but we're the heads of the Vargas branch of the mafia. We were sent this suspicious card in the mail a few days ago and I would like to know who sent it!" Flashing the card, he tried to put on a brave face, which failed with his now sobbing brother clutching his arm.

"You two are part of the mafia?" America had to clarify dumbfoundedly.

"Shut up," Romano grounded out. Feliciano wailed again. "Who sent it?" he shouted again.

America and Japan held up their cards at the same time. "We would like to ask the same question."

"Well…" Japan said thoughtfully. "Obviously this person has some sort of power if they're willing to challenge three highly powerful groups of criminals. If they hope to take the three groups of us on at the same time, surely they're much stronger than we anticipated."

"Hear that, Romano?" Feliciano said shakily, becoming audible again. "We're going to be killed! Can we go back now?"

"Shut up, Feliciano! Don't you want to know who's going to eat our food?"

Feliciano sniffed, but quieted. "Yes," he murmured, still gripping his brother, but letting one hand go to the holster on his hip. The two groups tensed, sensing this change in character.

A shadow fell across the moonlight streaming in from the door. "Excuse me, aru? What are you people doing here, aru? Surely you don't have permission to be in this area, aru."

Almost instinctively, all weapons were drawn and the person, a meek looking man with his black hair drawn back in a ponytail found himself at the end of five barrels and two blades. "Get out of here if you don't want to get hurt," England called, giving his derringers a menacing click.

"Oh…so that's the kind of people you are, aru." The man smiled and clicked his fingers. At once, another form came into view, a young man with a choppy haircut. He had a listlessly look on his face but he was holding a complicated looking gun about the size of a hairdryer for a lion. "Welcome! My name is China, aru, and I personally penned each of the cards you are holding, aru! This is Hong Kong, aru. He's my weapon's specialist."

"Why did you call us out here?" Japan asked, already sliding into a fighting stance.

"Relax, Japan, aru. I didn't come here meaning to hurt any of you. At least, not unless you resist, aru. I am the leader of the Triads. I trust you haven't heard of it, aru?"

"Shut up and get to the point, dammit!" Romano shouted, his gun waving in the air.

"Alright, if you insist, Romano, aru. The Triads are the biggest black-market, drug-dealing, violent gang in the world. But we've very low key. Very low key. We're so secretive we've been doing business under your very noses, aru! While you might think you are in charge of your little districts, in fact, aru, we have been controlling everything with strings we've set up, aru. From your most reliable sources to your best clients, it all traces back to the Triads, aru! And I have come here with a proposition.

"I would like your branch of the gangs, your branch of the yakuza, and the entire mafia world, to pledge your loyalty to me, aru."

There was another ringing silence. "And why would we do something like that?" America asked.

"Oh, I don't know, aru. Maybe because we could crush you if you refused, aru. Why wouldn't you join us, aru? We've got ties in places you've never even heard of. Why not all group together to be a force bigger than the authorities can deal with, aru? This offer is coming from a lion, and you people are the prey that should give up and surrender."

"What makes you think in your dumb head of yours that we'd give in?" Korea shouted, although he shifted toward Japan.

Suddenly, Hong Kong pointed his gun at the ceiling and shot, a loud cannon-like sound emitting as a chunk of the roof was blown away. This time, Feliciano was not the only one who winced. China smiled, although it was all business. "I wouldn't like to think how a human would look like after that's been fired at close range at them, aru. Hong Kong is…shall I say, aru…very trigger happy."

Hong Kong smirked at them, fingering the trigger playfully. "There's really no choice in this," he said, sounding excited.

"I don't like this at all," Feliciano whimpered, hiding behind Romano. "Let's give in. I'm scared."

"Japan," Korea warbled, his voice shaking, "I don't know if we can get out of this any other way."

America glanced over at England, noticing how the usually smug face was now deep in thought. Catching the blue eyes, England glanced back with a troubled expression.

Hong Kong shot again, a heart stopping sound. The mafia crumbled first, Feliciano disarming himself before begging his brother to do the same.

"That's alright," China said, his smirk taking on an almost animalistic quality. "After all, I've always known we'd all be one someday, aru."

Owari

--

Note: Becoming one with Russia? Heh, screw Russia! We all know China's gonna take over the world someday, so I think we should be watching out for a certain aru-speaking nation…basically I wanted to write a gang-related Hetalia fic and China ruling like he does. Oh, and Hong Kong. It's not personal, it's business. I had originally wanted the title to be witty like a combo of Gangs of New York and the Godfather but failed miserably. Candy for those who caught the Dane Cook/Harry Potter references.

By the way, if you were interested in what happened with the mafia that the twins came alone was that Romano was trying not to have clingy Spain come along and he used that as an excuse to keep Germany at home too. Feliciano countered, saying Romano couldn't bring his underlings until they argued back and forth and then…you know. They went alone. Not a smart choice.

Hopefully you review, or China and Hong Kong will be paying you a visit with their ray blaster. Hahahaha!