Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia nor any of its characters...if I did it would be much more debauchery.

Warnings are in order!

First! There is some dirty smutty chapters to come and they involve yaoi and Gilbert...just saying hahaha He is German ;)

Second,It has been a long time since I have written a fic and I have never written a Hetalia fic before and I have been out of high school for 5 years so we'll see how this turns out. The schools and schedule are based on American public school (eww I know). I'm going to try my best to stay in character but if it get a bit too OOC just let me know in a review.

Last, I am practicing my German in this through Gilbo and Luddy so please correct me if you are a native speaker and see a mistake!

NOW! On to the fic!

Prologue 1: Beeil dich, Beilschmidt!

The waking mind is a wonder. It absorbs all of the pieces, yet doesn't bother to put them together. Such was the dilemma of Gilbert Beilschmidt this Friday morning. He could hear his brother yelling at him but he couldn't put it together with the German expletives he was hearing. He dimly registered Ludwig yelling at someone (probably Lars) to grab his feet.

"Wach auf, Bruder!" Ludwig grunted as he and Lars un-awesomely tossed Gilbert out of bed.

Gilbert mumbled something that sounded like "motherfuckers" before sitting up, yawning, and then glaring at his brother and cousin.

Ludwig, as usual, looked sharp in a red button up collar shirt under a black sweater vest. He had on Khaki pants that had most certainly been ironed and a pair of all back sneakers (probably K Swiss like an un-awesome asshole). His blond hair was slicked back and unmoving, blue eyes glaring back.

His brother's perfect appearance effectively made him sick so he turned his glare on his cousin.

Lars looked like he'd already smoked something(despite it was 6:30am) and was snickering at Gilbert. His dirty blond hair was spiked resembling a hedgehog. He was wearing a blue and white muffler around his neck, his usual brown utility jacket, over an orange t-shirt (was that the fucking FIFA jersey, again?), pair of faded relaxed fit jeans, and a faded old pair of classic Chuck Taylors.

"I'm up, Gott, you didn't have to literally toss me out of bed," he grumbled rifling through his dirty laundry hamper for the least smelly articles of clothing. He picked up a black shirt, sniffed it, and tossed it back on the pile, smelled like pot and sweat. He continued rifling through his hamper.

Ludwig wrinkled his nose. "Don't you have any clean clothes, Bruder?" he asked looking around Gilbert's surprisingly orderly if cluttered room.

Gilbert didn't waver his search, merely, tossed an "I smell awesome no matter what" over his shoulder. Ludwig's frustration hit a new high and he finally stalked out of the room barking and angry, "Beeil dich!" over his shoulder.

Gilbert smirked as he finally settled on an outfit and Lars snickered behind him. "You'd think he would go ahead and get his license so he can stop having to rely on you," the Dutch boy said in his foreign sounding German.

Gilbert chuckled as he got dressed. "Why, wouldn't he want to rely on the awesome me? But, anyway, then he would have to come to terms with the fact that he is a German who is afraid of driving."

It had always amused Gilbert that his brother had so much German pride despite them no longer living in Germany. Most Germans were wary to express their love of their country, but not Ludwig. Ludwig would chastise him for his lack of outward German pride, his slangy German speech, and his overall lack of German-ness. But when the time had come for Ludwig to get his license he had effectively clammed up and failed the first test of his life. Gilbert knew he was awesome, since he had gotten his license on the first try, but it made him feel even better that he knew his perfect brother couldn't do it.

After throwing on his pinstripe vest over his white graphic tee and a pair of fitted dark denim jeans he started to lace up his combat boots.

"Lars why the hell are you here anyway?" Gilbert finally got around to asking as he finished tying his boot and grabbed his olive green messenger bag. Lars grabbed his own tattered tan backpack and followed Gilbert out of his room.

"You expected me to smoke with you and then go home last night?" he asked incredulously. Gilbert rolled his eyes and looked at his cousin.

"You live next door!" he yelled.

"My stupid sister..." he grumbled the rest unintelligibly as they headed out to the car where Ludwig was already sitting in the passenger seat. "Beeilen euch!" came the harsh German bark.

Gilbert and Ludwig argued all the way to school with the continued snickering of Lars in the back seat. They arrived at school with 7 min to spare as Gilbert had assured (or rather yelled...awesomely of course). Ludwig bolted from the car as soon as the car was safely parked. Gilbert slammed the door to his shitty 1990 Silver Audi Coupe Quattro in frustration...and to make sure the door stayed closed. There was nothing awesome about having your car stolen from a high school parking lot

As he headed toward the school, he smelled the scent of roses. "Gilbert, mon ami! Comment ça va?" came the lilting voice of his long time French friend.

"I thought I smelled something gay," Gilbert mumbled. Ignoring his insult effortlessly, Francis swung an arm around Gilbert's shoulder.

"You seem pissed, mon ami," Francis said as he guided Gilbert into the school at the sound of the first bell and toward their first class, English.

"Fighting with West, again this morning," he mumbled still frustrated.

Since they were young their grandfather had referred to them as east and west because of how different they were. Gilbert had started to call his brother West from a young age, but the younger Beilschmidt had stuck to an affectionate "Bruder".

Francis tsked in a show of sympathy. "Well, mon ami, I'm hosting a fabulous party tonight. That should cheer you up!" Francis cooed encouragingly. He knew he would be required to sneak some beer from his grandfather's stash to gain entry to the party. That's always what Francis required. Französisches Arschloch.

Francis' parents had recently decided to move back to France, since Francis was 18 and old enough to take care of himself (LOL). Due to the fact that Francis came from money (old money at that), he'd been left a fully paid for 4 bedroom home. His parents had officially shipped off yesterday.

The thought of Francis getting his own place pissed Gilbert off. He shrugged the Frenchman's arm off his shoulder.

As he walked ahead toward the classroom he heard Francis call "And there will be alcohol" just before the bell rang.

Gilbert hurried to his seat and whipped out his Blackberry under his desk. Lightening quick fingers opened MSN chat and sent a message to the French bastard.

Gilbo Baggins: I'll b there! ^O^

Francy Pants: I knew you would!

Francy Pants: Bring some beer! ;)

Gilbo Baggins: ... -.-

**Note: Just wanted to point out that Lars (Netherlands) and his sister(Belgium) do speak German, accented, but they speak it. I found that Dutch people tend to be adept at learning languages and I already knew that Dutch and German have 70% of the same vocabulary just spelled differently or slightly different pronunciation. So in my story they speak it. No Dutch oven jokes for Gilbert lol...at least not without Lars knowing lol.**



Wach auf, Bruder!-Wake Up, Brother!



Beeil dich!/Beeilen Euch!-Hurry Up! (The first one is when you are saying it to one person. The second is when you are saying it to more than one person.)

Französisches Arschloch-French Asshole


Mon ami-my friend

Comment ça va?-How are you?


Lynx: So how is it? Is it awesome?

Gilbo Baggins: Of course it is! I'm in it!

Gilbo Baggins has been booted from the room.

Lynx: Anyway! Please leave a review! This and the next chapter are to try to get a feel for my audience so they are kind of short.