I don't own Hetalia or Eurovision, Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and I guess Europe owns Eurovision. This fanfic might be a bit late, considering Eurovision happened several months ago. But I saw a montage video on YouTube of the Eurovision submissions coupled with pictures of the Hetalia characters. Some of the songs were just so hilarious when paired with the countries in this anime. If this has already been done I apologize, I mean no plagiarism. But this is my take on if it had been the Hetalia characters themselves singing these songs for Eurovision. The songs are all on YouTube, so feel free to listen to them while you read this story.

I've made some OCs of the other countries participating in the song contest, but I only delved into the ones who made it into the top 10, Ireland, and Israel. Short paragraphs in bold throughout the story include some history on these countries and their relationships. If you would like me to include more of the other countries, let me know and I'll update the fanfic. Pairings include: GerIta, Spamono, LietPol, Greece/Japan/Turkey (?), one-sided LietBel, SuFin, one-sided DenNor (?), and others I can't remember off the top of my head.

Also, thank you to JustDextra for pointing out that Germany's boss is in fact a woman. I'm sorry for the confusion!

Finally, I mean no harm when I make fun of some of the songs in this fic. Enjoy!


Sing To Me


It was that time again. Switzerland won the first in 1956. Norway was the returning champion from 2009. And Ireland held the most wins with seven.

Who's going to win this year?

It's time…for Eurovision, 2010.


Germany sized up his boss with a look of apprehension…and horror. What he needed right then was a cold beer, but he was certain nobody had alcohol on hand. "Ma'am…" he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Must I do this?"

"What?" his boss looked irritated now. "Why are you getting cold feet? This isn't your first year participating in the song contest! Besides, we're one of the Big Four! Automatic entry into the finals! You can't back out now, Ludwig!"

"I-I'm not backing out, ma'am." It was a struggle to keep his voice calm. "I-It's just…"

"Just what? Why do you not want to go onstage and represent your people?"

"The song, ma'am." Germany could feel his face grow hot and he ducked his head. "Why do I have to sing Satellite?"

"Oh, is that what's bothering you?" his boss shook her head in exasperation. "Competition is stiff this year, Ludwig! We may be automatically entered into the finals, but not one of the Big Four has won in over a decade! And the judges are cutthroats this year! Did you see the score they gave Switzerland? I was certain they would make it through!"

Germany had heard Switzerland's song, but he didn't quite agree with his boss's assertion of its greatness. "But Satellite?"

"What is the problem with this song?"

"W-Well…a girl sings the song for one thing—"

"What's wrong with a girl's song?" His boss demanded, clearly offended by the suggestion. "You've sung women's songs before! Don't you dare claim this will ruin your masculinity!"

"I wouldn't mind it at all if it was just a song a woman had sung," Germany said desperately. "B-But the lyrics! The musical rhythm…they're all out of character for me to do!"

"Out of character?" his boss barked. "Lena, the song's original singer, is German! She is of you, Ludwig! Nothing is out of character when it comes to your own people!"

"But why this song? Can't I sing another German song, like something from Rammstein—"

"Absolutely not, Ludwig! You are going to go out there tonight, and you are going to sing Satellite! For the sake of your people!" his boss stormed off.

Germany gaped after her, staring at his boss'es retreating back frozen for a moment before he collapsed into a chair. "Scheiße…"

"HEY HEY LORD, GIVE ME MELON SODA!

HEY HEY LADY, HEY HEY LADY!

I JUST CAN'T FORGET THE TASTE

OF THAT CHOCOLATE BAR I ATE BEFORE!"

Germany raised his head and looked at one of the intercom speakers in the ceiling. "What the…"


"MARUKAITE CHIKYUU!

MARUKAITE CHIKYUU!

MARUKAITE CHIKYUU,

I AM SEAOOF!"

It was fifteen minutes until Eurovision went live all over Europe. Everyone was tense about what might happen.

So naturally, security showed no mercy to those who tried to hijack the show.

"Whatever were you thinking?" England fumed. "You're sitting in the front row, and yet you didn't stop him when he stormed the stage?"

"I wanted to participate too!" Sealand stuck his tongue out at England and pouted. "I'm a European country; I should be allowed to be in Eurovision, too!"

England ignored him as he sized up the two Nordics sitting in front of him. Finland was laughing lightly and Sweden was idly playing with Hanatamago. "Why didn't you stop him when he ran onstage?"

"Come now, calm down." Finland raised his hands slightly, still smiling and laughing. "It isn't live yet, and he just wanted to have fun. No harm no foul, right?"

"That's right!" Sealand said cheerfully. He plopped down in the seat in between Finland and Sweden.

England didn't look so convinced, and he huffed in exasperation. "No harm…you would say that, wouldn't you? After all, what does it matter to you two if the show's ruined considering neither of you even made it into the finals?"

Finland's smile quickly faded. "H-Hey, that's not nice—"

Sweden suddenly stood straight up out of his seat. He stretched up to his full height and turned to face England. His face cold, but it also looked like there was repressed rage in his blue eyes.

England felt very small in that moment. "A-A-As you said, no harm no foul. I-I have to meet the…others." He turned on his heel and ran up the aisle.

"Were you offended, Su-san?" Finland asked him. "It's really no bother, though. We may be the only Nordics not in the finals, but we gave it our best shot. Now we can cheer for the others."

Sweden slowly sat back down. "I won't…cheer for Denmark."

Finland laughed again, as Sealand took Hanatamago from Sweden. "Well, according to the program he's going to be the very last nation to go tonight. He must be so nervous about it…"


"Norge!"

Norway violently stiffened as a body draped over his own and arms wrapped around his shoulders. "Norge, did you see the lineup? I'm dead last tonight! Ho, this is going to be horrible!"

"It's not like you have a chance anyways," Norway said neutrally, trying to shrug Denmark off him.

"Aw, you're worried about me!" Denmark hugged him a little tighter. "Mange tak! Don't you worry; I'm going to give it all my best, just for you!"

"I don't care."

"Just for him?" Iceland asked. "What about your own people?"

"Of course I will!" Denmark reassured him. "But we're in Norge's territory! He's the reigning champion from last year! I will absolutely give it my best for him!"

"I don't care," Norway repeated, finally succeeding in shoving Denmark off him.

Denmark clapped his hands together, once again all smiles. "Oh, I can't wait to get out there, though! Even if I get the lowest score tonight, that's still better than Sweden! That Tudefj's got marked just below qualifying! Oh man, the look on his face…I'll hold it as a cherished memory!"

"Idiot," Norway muttered audibly, brushing off his clothes.

Denmark didn't seem to hear him. "Well, I have plenty of time to get ready! I think I'll sit with them until it's my turn! Good luck, you two! And Norge…I can't wait to hear your song!"

Denmark ran off. Iceland watched him go and looked at Norway. "Since when is Sweden a crybaby?"


A few rows back from the Nordic family, a large host of countries were sitting together, taking up two rows. All of them were conversing loudly and happily.

With some exceptions.

"Doitsu!" Italy Veneziano was all smiles. He happily waved a small German flag back and forth. "Doitsu! Doitsu!"

"For Christ's sake, put that thing away!" Italy Romano fumed, glaring at his younger brother. Romano was seated directly on the aisle, with Italy beside him.

"But Nii-san…" Italy looked offended by Romano's words. "I want Germany to win! If I don't cheer for him, how will he know I want him to win?"

"I don't want him to win, idiot!" Romano barked. "I'll be happy to see his kraut-ass crash and burn tonight!"

"Nii-san, that's not very nice at all!"

"Ha! Without his Big Four status he would've never been in the finals!"

"I'm one of the Big Four," England said defensively. "And my song is definitely the winner this year."

"France-nii-san and Spain-nii-san are the Big Four too," Italy pointed out. "So don't make fun of Germany for it!"

The mention of the latter country made Romano visibly stiffen, but he quickly brushed it off with an obnoxious laugh. "That idiota has no chance! A whole list of countries to perform and he has to go second? Just wait, he's going to choke onstage!"

England turned away from the Italian brothers to the other countries seated in the row. "So, I see you threw down a hamburger long enough to get here."

"It looks like fun." America was reading over the program and not looking at England. "It was nice of you to send me an invitation this year, since my other ones keep getting lost in the mail…"

"Yes, it's a shame," England said smugly. He glanced towards the country seated at America's left. "Did you get an invitation too, Japan?"

"Hai. Two of them, in fact." Japan fumbled with his pockets and pulled out two invitations. "When I heard both Greece-san and Turkey-san made it into the finals, I was very happy for them. Both of them sent me invitations to these finals, and so I'd like to cheer them both on."

England glanced upwards. "I wonder if they even realize the other sent you an invitation…"

"Aren't you supposed to be backstage preparing?"

England's whole body tensed at this voice. America however quickly looked up and jumped to his feet as a chin-length red-headed woman approached their row. "Ireland!"


As a younger sibling of England, Ireland was often subjected to her older brother's ideology over religion and land. The two fought constantly for centuries over who would control the land and England won many times. Ireland, ever the stubborn little sister, always came back swinging, and broke away from the United Kingdom as much as she could. England however maintained control over six counties in the northern territory of the island. This area is known as Northern Ireland, their younger brother.


Ireland pointedly ignored her older brother as she hurried over to give America a hug. "Thank you so much for coming! Are you here to see me win again?"

England scoffed very discreetly, but Ireland ignored him. "Aye, I'm not entering the finals with a lot of points. But my song is strong and I'm certain I'll be able to win this year!"

"I look forward to it!" America said positively, smiling at her. "But it sounds like everyone has a lot of strong songs this year! England said so too!"

"My song will be the sure winner," England said confidently. "It's truly a great song, so pay attention to it!"

Ireland snorted in disgust, turning dark green eyes towards her brother. "You haven't won since 1997. And this Big Four status, which allows you to cheat and skip to the final round, sure hasn't helped you. Aren't you being a little cocky?"

"Well, YOU haven't won since 1996!" England yelled, jabbing a finger at her. "So who do you think you are to lecture me about wins?"

Ireland grinned evilly at him. "Because nobody else has won more times than me."

"Why, you—"

"I wish I could sit out here and chatter with you lads," Ireland said, cutting England off. "But I must go and get ready. Let's get a pint later America, okay?" she smiled again. "My treat!"

"Sure, absolutely!" America yelled cheerfully.

England gaped at his sister's retreating back and his shoulders slumped. "Why do my siblings hate me?"

"Do you need a book?" America asked, looking through the program once more. Suddenly, his whole face lit up. "Oh, WOW! Israel is here? That's awesome! I didn't know Israel was part of Europe!"

"…She's not," Estonia said slowly.

"Israel is just part of the European broadcasting!" England snapped. "So they can enter! Since you aren't, you can NEVER enter!"

America shrugged. "I have American Idol, so I don't need this."

"…So I can't enter, either?"

England yelped and jumped, looking to the seat at America's right. "C-Canada, you're here too? I didn't see you!"

Canada smiled sadly, and hugged Kumajirou to his chest. "It's all right. I understa—"

"Sorry we're late."

A body fell into the seat right on top of Canada. Canada wheezed quietly in pain but it went unnoticed.

"Poland!" Italy cheered happily.

"Hey, Poland!" America greeted the country who'd just taken his brother's seat. "And Lit—LITHUANIA?" He screamed in horror.

Everyone then looked towards Lithuania, who looked embarrassed by the sudden attention. "H-Hello, America-san…"

"What the hell happened to your face?" America blurted out.

Lithuania had a huge bandage over his nose, and one of his eyes was swollen.

"I agree, what happened to you?" England demanded. "It looked like someone hit you!"

"Oh God, was it Russia?" Latvia cried out, pressing his hands to his cheeks. "It was, wasn't it?"

"O-Oh, don't worry," Lithuania stammered. "It's really nothing—"

"Belarus, like, totally broke his nose," Poland interrupted flatly. He didn't seem to notice Canada fidgeting underneath him.

"BELARUS?" the other Baltics shouted.

"F-Feliks, please!" Lithuania scolded. He forced a smile at the other horrified countries. "I-It's really not a big deal. Feliks makes it sound so simple, but it's actually quite complicated."

Poland glared at him. "Complicated, Liet? You, like, go backstage to wish her good luck. You find her in the wings—not, like, in a dressing room or something—and wish her good luck. She punches you in the face. She breaks your nose. Like, what's complicated about THAT?"

"That woman is scarier than her fratello," Romano said, shuddering slightly. "Why would you even want to talk to her?"

"I-I-It was my fault, really," Lithuania tried to explain. "B-Belarus is very nervous, you see, about the final. It w-wasn't the right time for me to just spring on her—"

"You just wished her good luck!" Poland snapped. "Two words, Liet! You didn't, like, totally belt out some idiotic poem or love confession! You just said 'good luck' and she, like, totally punched you! For no reason!"

"I was bothering her, Feliks, end of story. I'd like to forget it and focus on enjoying the show." Lithuania reached into his pocket.

Poland scoffed and tucked his hands behind his head. "There isn't, like, a lot of people I want to cheer for. It—WHY DO YOU HAVE THAT?"

"What, this?" Lithuania held up a small flag not unlike the German one Italy had. This flag, however, was for Belarus. "I'm here to cheer her on. I'd like to show my support."

"You aren't, seriously, going to cheer her on after she broke your nose, are you?"

Lithuania looked offended by the question. "It was my fault, Feliks. Now, just leave it alone and let me enjoy the show." He waved Belarus's flag idly. "I'd really like her to wi—"

Poland ripped the flag out of his hand and threw it as far as it could go. "As long as I'm here, you aren't waving that thing!"

Lithuania looked crestfallen, but slowly nodded. "…All right…"


"Why are you in such a bad mood?" Austria asked. "I mean, it's just a song, right?" He sighed to himself. "I would hardly call modern songs music, but it's what, three minutes tops? Stop worrying."

Germany looked absolutely miserable. He quietly sat down and faced the corner without saying a word.

Austria sighed shortly. "Thank God that idiot isn't here…"

"Hey, guys!" Hungary ran over to them. "I just looked at the audience! Italy is here!"

Germany twitched, and Austria rolled eyes. "Well, that's just perfect. You haven't seen Prussia, have you?"

Hungary shrugged. "I'm guessing he's running late, but who cares? He can stay away for all I care!"

"Knowing him, he won't miss this."

"Hey, look!" there was a sudden shout amongst the Eurovision personnel. "It's the vampire siblings!"

Hungary stiffened, but Austria was confused. "Vampire siblings? Oh for God's sakes, vampires don't exist!"

"…I know who they are," Hungary seethed suddenly. She stormed over to the green room's open door and glared into the hallway. Austria followed her to get a look as well.

Three young adults, two boys and one girl, all of them with jet-black hair and dressed in black clothes, were standing together talking amongst themselves. "Oh," Austria said after a moment. "The Romanian territories."


The Romanian siblings are Transylvania, Moldavia, and Wallachia. The siblings governed themselves and looked out for each other through the centuries. The story of Count Dracula, also known as Vlad the Impaler, originates from Romania, and so the siblings are often thought to be vampires. The country as a whole was part of the Warsaw Pact and all three siblings lived in the USSR house with Russia for many decades. After the Cold War, they declared their independence. Moldavia, now named Moldova, declared himself as an independent country from his other siblings around the same time. Romania is now overseen by Transylvania and Wallachia. Also…they do not have a pleasant history with Hungary, especially on Wallachia's part but due to drastic positive diplomacy between their bosses over the last few years they are forced to be civil with one another."


Wallachia glanced over her shoulder and saw Hungary. A strange glint entered her dark eyes and gave Hungary a subtly sardonic grin before focusing on her brothers.

Hungary seethed, and started forward. "That kurva—"

"Hungary." Austria grabbed her arm. "Civility, remember?"

Hungary sighed, but allowed herself to be pulled back into the room. "She is only so lucky I resigned from Eurovision this year! I would've beaten her soundly!"

"Hello!"

Hungary stiffened, and forced a twitching smile at Austria. "I'm…going elsewhere. Or else I'll be too tempted to cause violence!"

Austria said nothing as she ran off, but the sudden appearance of Prussia was no less pleasant for him. "What's up, loser? Wasn't Hungary just here?"

"…No."

"Hey, West!" Prussia brushed past Austria and headed over to his little brother. "Why so down in the dumps? We can't win this way!"

Germany said nothing.


The lights dimmed over the arena, and the cameras became ready. Conversations ceased to a halt. "Welcome to the fifty-fifth annual Eurovision Song Contest!" the announcement blared out.

"Fifty-fifth?" America wondered. "It's been going on that long?"

"Surprised?" England said haughtily.

"No, not really. My Academy Awards has been going on for much longer."

"Before we start the show, let's take a moment to highlight the performances of the countries that fell short of qualifying this year!"

"It, like, totally sucks you weren't able to enter the contest this year, Italy," Poland said. "It's always funny to see you two, like, perform together."

Italy sighed sadly. ". It's too bad we couldn't…"

Romano gaped at him. "What the fuck do you mean we couldn't? YOU'RE the moron who forgot the deadline, AGAIN! All you had to do was remember ONE DATE! We had the greatest song lined up for this year, but NO! You got lost trying to find your own fucking mailbox!"

Italy began to cry. "Waaaah, Nii-san is being mean to me!"

The montage began playing on the stage screen, starting with Switzerland, who'd looked both embarrassed and pissed off during his performance. "Il pleut de l'or, chaque fois que tu me parles d'amour, Il pleut de l'or…"

"Yay, Nii-san!" Liechtenstein cheered from the audience.

"I lost, Liechtenstein," Switzerland sighed, hiding his face. "By a horrible margin."

"He scored so low because he sang in French," England observed from the wings.

"What the hell does THAT mean?" France demanded.

A crimson-faced Estonia was next. "Give me time and give me strength, give me strength to carry on. Give me bit of hope now, help me through the night. Give me time and give me strength, give me strength to carry on."

A trembling Latvia was next. "What for are we living? What for are we crying? What for are we dying? Only Mr. God know why—What for are we living?"

"Their songs were so depressing," Russia observed happily. "I wonder why?" He didn't notice the dirty looks other countries gave him.

Finland's cheerful entry was next, an accordion rumbling happily beside him. "Mä laulan, Paista päivä kulje kunnon kuu, Työlki ellää, mut kaupal rikastuu. Mitä mina laulan kun olen…"

"I was one of the few countries to sing in my native language this year," Finland sighed sadly. "And I was just three points shy of qualifying…"

"…It's okay," Sweden said, reaching around Sealand to pat him on the shoulder.

Poland's enthusiastic performance was next in the montage, as he spun around the microphone stand. "I'll be forever, ever and ever. Feeling this love Till the day when I die. Being together, Even no matter, You didn't want me to be by your side."

"This song sounds really good," Japan said, glancing at Poland. "How did you not qualify?"

Poland shrugged. "The song is, like, totally awesome, but it obviously, like doesn't suit me. Next year I'm gonna, totally, whip out a dance song, or something. Then I'll definitely win."

Speaking of dance songs, Lithuania's awkward performance showed next. "But that's OK we like it rough. We'll settle the score. We survived the reds and two world wars…Hey! Get up and dance! To our eastern European kinda—"

"That your way of sticking it to Ivan?" America asked.

"Mano Dievas," Lithuania groaned, sinking into his seat.

"You, totally, did a good job," Poland assured him. "But next year I'm like, totally stealing that style."

Netherlands' hyperactive performance followed, the video filled with the sound of rhythmic clapping. "Shalaie shalala, shaalalie Shalala, Het gaat niet uit m'n kop! Shalalie Shalala, shalalie Shalala, Ik sta d'r's morgens mee op!"

Spain was laughing so hard from the wings at this performance that he fell over. Netherlands could see him from the audience and hissed in fury.

And to conclude the montage, was Sweden's very stoic performance. "Misty moon, you're gonna see, I've got you blues to get on my feet. 'Cause this is my life, my friend, and this is my time to stand!"

Sweden's pocket hummed all of a sudden. He pulled out his cell phone and found a new text message for him.

"No, it's not."

- Peace, Denmark

Sweden's head snapped up. Denmark was standing on the side of the stage, pointing and laughing at him. He looked back down at his cell phone.

"Su-san, what's wrong?" Finland asked worriedly. "You're glaring fiercely at your phone!"

"…It's nothing," Sweden said slowly.

"So the first country singing is…Azerbaijan?" Sealand said, reading the program. "Who's that?"


Turkey was in such a good mood. The finals were about to start. Most importantly, were the current scores for Eurovision.

I placed first in my category! he thought with absolute glee. One hundred and eighteen points!

It didn't matter to him that a certain other country had also placed first in his semi-final round. My song is much stronger than his! And I invited Japan as my special guest! I can't wait to rub my victory in his face!

He knew which green room this certain country was in. He was no wasted no time in breezing in. "Brat! Are you ready to lo—"

He trailed off. Greece was fast asleep on the couch, cats and kittens curled up around him.

"HEY!" he barked, storming over to the couch and grabbing Greece by his collar. "I'm talking to you, brat! Wake up this instant!"

He gave Greece several violent shakes, and kittens went flying off him and onto the couch and floor. But outside of a few slight gurgles, Greece remained asleep.

"Sıçmak," he cursed to himself, nonchalantly letting Greece go. The other country fell hard back against the couch, but remained asleep. Turkey ignored the hissing cats around him as he left this green room. "Now what…?"

He perked up when he saw another country leaning against a wall. "Cyprus!" he ran over to him, grinning sinisterly. "I saw your score! Only sixty-seven points? You tied with Ireland but they marked you for tenth place!" He laughed loudly.

Cyprus gave him the middle finger, and then walked away.

"At least respond to constructive criticism!" Turkey hollered after him. He seethed and kicked the wall. "Your young brother is much better! Isn't there anyone I can level with?"

"Sadiq!"

Turkey immediately perked up at this voice and turned around. "Salem, Azer!"

A young woman ran to Turkey and gave him a warm hug. "I'm so happy to see you! Especially since I'm about to go onstage! I'm so nervous as it is!"

"Ah, you ranked second in our semi-final category, just behind me! You'll do fine, Azer." He patted her brunette head and managed a smile. "You have a strong song, after all."

"Hmm, that's true." She suddenly smiled very sinisterly. "And I have a much better score than a certain someone…"

Turkey laughed very discreetly. "Please play nicely, Azer…"

"Azerbaijan." One of the techs walked up to them. "They're ready for you."

"Iyi şanslar," Turkey said to Azerbaijan.

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you so much!"


Once described as "one nation with two states", Turkey and Azerbaijan have always maintained a close sibling relationship. Each shares a common history, and through this history both have supported each other through wars, economic struggles, and military cooperation. To Turkey, his relationship with Azerbaijan is his "most important bilateral partnership" in foreign policy.


They announced Azerbaijan onstage. For many of the countries in the audience, this mostly meant that this was the first country to sing for the evening, just ahead of Spain.

"Hey, she's hot!" Romano blurted out as an olive-skinned long-haired brunette came onto stage. She had golden-brown eyes and they seemed to be filled with energy. "And Spain has to follow her…he doesn't have a chance!"

Azerbaijan wasted no time in launching into her song. "You are my man, you are my half. Tell me what's happening?"

"She's singing in English," America said, clearly surprised.

"A lot of songs for Eurovision are sung in English," England pointed out. "Or were you not paying attention to that montage?"

"Can I love you, forever, through this? Can I trust in you, forever, through this? I don't know how to stop! How to stop…"

Romano's pocket began to hum. He yanked out his cell phone and saw a new text message. "Be sure to cheer for me! Amor, Spain."

Romano rolled his eyes and cussed in irritation. He looked back at the stage at Azerbaijan's performance. "These tear drops. That drip drop, drip drop. Drip drop, drip drop, whoa-oh! Whoa-oh!"

He grinned and texted back. "This girl totally kicks your ass. How the hell can you beat her?" He sent the text and reclined in his chair. He didn't receive a response back, which suited him well.

Azerbaijan finished her performance and received a roaring applause. She bowed graciously before quickly departing the stage. As soon as she left, cell phones began to hum all over the building in certain countries' pockets. Almost automatically, they checked their cell phones for the text messages they'd received.

"I didn't give her any points," Lithuania said, looking at his cell phone with surprise.

"I gave her eight points," Poland said, looking at his. He nodded slightly. "That's reasonable. That dress she wore was, like, totally fabulous."

"I also gave her zero points," Estonia said.

"…Me too," England admitted.

"I gave her two points," Latvia said, looking at his phone. "That's good, right?"

"Wait, so you guys can vote on the performance?" America asked.

"All countries who enter Eurovision submit their score for each song," England explained. "We don't score them, per se, but judges on our behalf do. They texted us the results of their votes." He shook his head slightly. "The texting made life so much easier. We use to either have to sit with the judges to find out the score, or find out vicariously…"

Italy pulled out his cell phone and checked it. "They didn't send me a score!"

"That's because we DIDN'T ENTER!" Romano snapped. "Our scores don't count!"

"S-So I can't vote for Germany?" Tears filled Italy's eyes. "A-A-And you can't vote for Spain-nii-san?"

"I WASN'T GOING TO VOTE FOR HIM ANYWAYS!"


"Twelve points, Azer!" Turkey announced, showing her his cell phone. "My judge gave you a perfect score, as always!"

"Thank you so much!" She gave him another hug while laughing to herself. "I'm still on my performance high. Just wait! He won't be able to top me!"

Turkey's smile slipped slightly. "N-Now Azer…"

"I gave you eight points."

Azer lit up once more with genuine glee. "Georgia!" she spun around to see a young man standing there with strikingly ash blonde hair but incredibly dark eyes. "Thank you! That was nice of you!"

Georgia shrugged slightly. "My judges don't generally give you a high score, Azer, but I thought you did great."

"Bëli, Sağ olun!" She ran over to give him a hug and kiss as well. "I really do appreciate it!"


"Although both have always been neighbors, Azerbaijan and Georgia didn't truly become close until after both had declared their independence from the Ottoman Empire. Both then bonded together as an alliance against invading Russian troops in the 1920s, and remained close through their annexing by the USSR. To this day, both countries maintain a very close relationship. So close, in fact, that neither knows where the other's border ends."


Azerbaijan stiffened, and suddenly rose up on her tip-toes to glare over Georgia's shoulders. "I just saw HIM!"

Georgia's brow knitted slightly. "…Him?"

"You know who," Turkey said grimly, rubbing at his forehead.

"Oh." He winced slightly. "I won't tell you how to handle your foreign policy, Azer, but this is a peaceful event. Can you please be civil for the sake of the contest?"

Azerbaijan frowned, but she relaxed back down to her own height and let Georgia go. "As long as he stays away from me I'll be happy. That jerk…knowing him he probably gave me zero points! As usual!"

"You don't necessarily vote for him, either," Georgia pointed out.

And you, Sadiq!" Azerbaijan spun around to glare at Turkey. "You gave him SIX points last year! Six points! That's six points too many!"

"Azer, I'm trying to be bipartisan. And it was a really good song last year—"

"Excuse me." It was one of the stage hands. "Spain is about to take the stage, so we need quiet back here."

The three countries muttered acknowledgements as the Spaniard himself strode past them towards the stage. He looked quite suave for his performance, wearing black slacks and a black silk shirt with a few loose buttons. He was positively smiling, as if nothing was bothering him.

"He doesn't have a chance," Azerbaijan said confidently. "Our scores are too high."

"None of the Big Four have won in thirteen years," Turkey said slowly. "But it really depends, I guess."


A body fell into the open seat beside Finland. "Hey guys!"

Sweden glared at Denmark, while Finland was a little more civil. "D-Don't you need to be backstage getting ready?"

"Bah, I have 'till the end of the show!" Denmark stretched his arms out over the back of Finland's seat and the empty seat to his right. "So I'm going to hang out with you guys!"

"But…why not go and hang out with Norway or Iceland?" Finland was trying to be civil, really. But he knew that Denmark was primarily there to antagonize Sweden.

"Nonsense, Norge is going up after Spain! I shouldn't bother him before then! Besides…" Denmark grinned stupidly to himself. "To see his performance from the audience is much better than watching it backstage."

"So that's why you're out here?" Finland asked warily.

The arena lights dimmed suddenly, signaling the start of the next song.

"Spain-nii-san!" Italy cheered loudly.

"He's totally going to choke!" Romano laughed.

"Algo pequeñito. Algo chiquitito." Th stage was still dim, but the audience could see Spain's silhouette, along with the various dancers he had onstage with him. "Una rosa blanca, una caricia, un beso dulce y un perdón."

"Well, he's singing in Spanish," America pointed out.

"It's not against the rules to sing in your native language!" England barked.

"Un gesto tierno, una mirada, un abrazo o una flor." The lights onstage came up abruptly, revealing Spain in the center of his dancers, a surprisingly intense look on his face. "Algo pequeñito. Algo chiquitito."

"Hey, look!" Denmark shouted, pointing to the side of the stage. A figure was purposefully strolling onto the stage!

"W-Who is that?" Finland demanded, watching the intruder mingle with the dancers. The man immediately joined the dancing. "He's interfering with the performance!"

"Wait, isn't that the asshole that keeps running out in the middle of UEFA games?" Romano asked. He didn't look concerned, but there was a slight hitch to his voice.

"That would be "Jimmy Jump"," England said gravely. "And yes, it's the same person."

"What's UEFA?" America asked.

"A football tournament, you git!" England sighed.

"Football? If it's football, how come I've never heard of it? Well, I bet it ain't as big as the Superbowl!"

"Not THAT football!"

"Algo pequeñito! Oh oh oh ooooh!" Spain sang out, not seeming to notice Jimmy Jump dancing crazily right in front of him. "Algo chiquitito! Oh oh oh ooooh! Cosas simples que ahora no me das! Que te pido con locura si no quieres terminar—"

"Jimmy Jump is usually funny, but he's ruining Spain-nii-san's performance!" Italy complained as Jimmy Jump gestured to Spain with "spirit" fingers. Security was at the edge of the stage, trying to grab him.

"Ruining the performance?" Romano laughed, despite his earlier irritation. "This mess is covering up that idiot's horrible singing! Besides, Jimmy Jump is one of his citizens, so he's got nobody to blame but himself!"

"Hoy decides si quererme o romperme el corazón…"

Spain suddenly jumped off the stage, slamming into Jimmy Jump and knocking him into the waiting arms of security. He landed gracefully on his feet in the aisle.

"What the fuck is he doing?" Romano wondered aloud.

"Algo pequeñito!" Spain sang out. He started to inch up the aisle. "Algo muy bonito!"

"Wait…don't me…" Romano pressed his back into the seat.

Spain came further up the aisle, gesturing with his free hand. "Tu pelo al viento que se enred entre mis manos al calor!"

Romano glanced at Italy in horror. "Oh God, he's not coming down this way, is he?"

"Has sabido comprender que las pequeñas cosas son las que!" It was fairly obvious now that Spain was looking directly at Romano, and walking down the aisle straight at him!

"Tell me he's not coming towards me," Romano said, looking between Italy, the other countries in their row, and Spain. "Tell me he—fuck!" He sank quickly into his seat. "I-I'm not here, okay? Tell him I'm not here!"

"Ahora trata de cambiar que el resto de las cosas ya se arreglarán!"

Spain made a wild leap and landed on his knees next to Romano's seat. Nonchalantly, without breaking note, he grabbed Romano's sleeve and yanked him straight up in his seat. "Algo pequeñito! Oh oh oh ooooh! Algo chiquitito! Oh oh oh ooooh!"

"W-What the fuck are you doing?" Romano screamed, batting Spain's hands away. "We're on live TV! LIVE TV ALL OVER EUROPE!"

"Ciao!" Italy greeted obliviously.

"Algo pequeñito! Oh oh oh ooooh! Algo chiquitito! Oh oh oh ooooh!" Spain continued to sing to Romano, his voice having a very velvety texture to it. "En tus manos tienes la occasion—"

"I don't know whether to find this romantic or to feel sorry for Romano!" Finland laughed. All of the Nordics were turned in their seats to watch this spectacle.

"Hmm," Demark said thoughtfully. "It's almost as if Spain is singing the song to him!"

"…That's because he is," Sweden said.

"Y no romperme el CORAZÓN!" Spain was practically screaming out the song now, while Romano sat there, red faced and cussing under his breath.

"Hey, we're like totally on live television!" Poland cheered. He leaned over Lithuania and Italy to wave at the camera at Spain's back.

"Hey! Japan's here!" Turkey cheered, seeing the country staring blankly at Spain with the other countries in the row. "I just knew he would come to see me!"

"Algo pequeñito! Oh oh oh ooooh! Algo chiquitito! Oh oh oh ooooh!" Spain was totally into it now, holding Romano's limp hand in his. The other country didn't even bother fighting him anymore."Cosas simples que ahora no me das! Que te pido con locura si no quieres terminar—"

"Spain is really in his game now," France observed from the side of the stage. "Serenading Romano in front of the whole world…truly brave!"

Backstage, Prussia was watching this on the green room television. He was laughing so hard he was jumping up and down. "West! You have to see this! This is the funniest shit I've ever seen! Oh my God, look at Romano's face!"

Germany was too busy sulking in the corner to care. "Why…why this song…"

"En tus manos tienes la ocasión Hoy decides si quererme o romperme el corazón!" Spain finished with an amazing flourish, letting Romano go and gesturing to the ceiling dramatically. He received a loud, thunderous applause and bowed deeply to the audience.

Italy stood up and clapped. "Yay, Spain-nii-san!"

Romano said nothing.

Pockets hummed once more and the countries checked for the scores they gave to Spain. "Two points, again," Latvia said.

"Eight points," Lithuania said.

"Zero," Estonia said.

"Me too," Poland said surprisingly. "I thought it was, like, totally epic."

"I, too, gave him nothing," England said slowly.

"You're a jerk!" America laughed.

"I didn't score him!"

"Four points," Finland observed.

"Nothing," Denmark said. He huffed in disgust. "And it was a love song directed to somebody…my judge must be out of touch."

"…Zero," Sweden said neutrally.

France gaped at his phone in horror. "I didn't give him ANY points?"

"West!" Prussia fumed, glaring at his phone. "Let me see your phone! Mine says we gave Spain NO points! What does yours say?"

Germany continued to sulk. "Why…"

Italy sat back down and turned to Romano. "Nii-san—"

He trailed off. Romano was no longer sitting there. And Spain was gone as well. "Eh? Nii-san? Where'd he go?"


I'd intended this to be a one-shot, but this fanfic kind of ran away from me and it's looking to be pretty long. I'll have the next part up in a couple of days, I promise!

Yes, there is a real Jimmy Jump. He's known internationally for running out into live sports events and creating a spectacle, mostly in UEFA tournaments. He did run out onstage during Spain's Eurovision performance this year, though he didn't actually dance as crazily as he did here. Because of his interference, Spain's singer Daniel Diges was allowed to perform twice.

Cyprus has confirmed to be a boy, and so has Moldova. With Ireland all I have is Himaruya's wish to make her a girl, and I made Wallachia also a girl because according to Hetalia Hungary really hates this territory. The genders for the rest of the OC territories were decided by me, and not canon. Yet.

Here are some translations for the songs not sung in English. You can find these lyrics anywhere on the website but also at Eurovision's website:

Switzerland

"Il pleut de l'or, chaque fois que tu me parles d'amour, Il pleut de l'or…"

"It's raining gold, whenever you talk about love, It's raining gold…"

Finland

"Mä laulan, Paista päivä kulje kunnon kuu, Työlki ellää, mut kaupal rikastuu. Mitä mina laulan kun olen…"

"I sing, daylight, shine, full Moon, travel safely. Working is a way to make a living, but you get rich by trading. What to sing when I am unhappy…"

Netherlands

"Shalaie shalala, shalalie Shalala, Het gaat niet uit m'n kop! Shalalie Shalala, shalalie Shalala, Ik sta d'r's morgens mee op!"

"Shalaie Shalala, shalalie Shalala, I can't get it out of my head! Shalalie Shalala, shalalie Shalala, it's there when I get up in the morning!"

Most of Spain's song is here, so here's the English translation, which can also be found at Eurovision's website:

"Something tiny
Something really little
A white rose, a caress
A sweet kiss and an apology

Something tiny
Something really little
A tender gesture, a look
An embrace, a flower.

Something tiny
Something really little
A simple "I love you" with sweetness,
with affection andwith passion.

That's all I ask you, my love
My life is falling apart, you're breaking my heart
Try to change soon
Time is really running out now.

Something tiny, oh oh oh ooooh
Something really little, oh oh oh ooooh
Simple things that you're not giving me now
I´m asking you for like crazy, if you don't want it to end
Something tiny, oh oh oh ooooh
Something really little, oh oh oh ooooh
The choice is in your hands
Today you decide whether to love me
Or to break my heart

Something tiny
something really pretty
Your wind-blown hair entwined in the warmth of my hands
You managed to understand
That it's the small things that keep this fire alive
Now, try to change,
The rest will sort itself out

Something tiny, oh oh oh ooooh
Something really little, oh oh oh ooooh
The simple things that now you are giving me
I love you like crazy and will always love you
Something tiny, oh oh oh ooooh
Something really little, oh oh oh ooooh
The choice is in your hands
You decided to love me and not to break my heart,
Not to break my heart

Something tiny, oh oh oh ooooh
Something really little, oh oh oh ooooh
Simple things that you're not giving me now
I´m asking you for like crazy, if you don't want it to end
Something tiny, oh oh oh ooooh
Something really little, oh oh oh ooooh
The choice is in your hands
Today you decide whether to love me
Or to break my heart"