Author's Note: This has to be the most fucked up thing I've yet to write, even compared to the Jersey Devil/Britannia Angel one. And you know what? I don't regret a thing.

This is only partially AU, because the Hetalia characters are still nations while the Death Note characters have different stories. You can consider the universe the Death Note characters are "from" as an altered circumstance universe of the one in Chronological Conundrum, meaning the guidelines are the same (Light's not Kira, L lives, Wammy Boys are still genius orphans, etc.) but the events of C.C. never happened.

Things from my head-canon to note:

—Teutonic Prussia was known as the "breadbasket of Western Europe," which is why he smells like baked bread
—The Nations have houses in whatever country they want, which is why Prussia is staying in America
—Prussia's smarter than anyone gives him credit for, but he can't really work a computer for the life of him and always has to have Germany, Japan, or America fix it for him if he can't get a computer techie to come do it
—After a handful of bad experiences with Russia, he feels uncomfortable around all Russians, which is why he gets squirmy around Mello
—While he finds women attractive, he's more likely to get with a guy because he feels as though the relationship is more equal that way
—Matt is an American from New Jersey, but came to Wammy's too late in life to lose his East Coast accent
—Though a bit of an asshole, Matt's a nice guy deep down
—Mello really does care a lot about Matt, but has way too much fun picking on him to really show his caring side

This will be a three- or four-shot, and probably won't be very long at that. It just made more sense to split it up than try to force the whole thing into one chapter.

I think that's it for this obscenely long Author's Note, so I'll wrap it up and let you get on with the story.


Summer was Prussia's absolute favorite season, and nothing made him more excited than the prospect of fucking around all day outside in the beautiful weather. Germany, however, had other plans for his slacker of a big brother, deciding to take the day off to spend time with Italy and Japan while designating the paperwork to Prussia.

Damn. He'd put on his swim trunks for nothing.

Why did he have to do anything anyway? It's not like he was a country anymore—well, not technically, but West was nice enough to let him become East Germany. Upside? He didn't, you know, die. Downside? It made him more susceptible to being forced—against his will, mind you—to do the paperwork so Germany could go off and do what he wanted to do.

Pouting, Prussia flipped through the intimidating pile of papers stacked next to the computer and sighed dejectedly, turning on the computer and opening up a Word document. "Why do you hate me, West?" he asked no one in particular, glancing over at the first sheet in the stack and typing up his brother's notes. "Well, at least your handwriting is readable."

Two hours and half a stack of papers later, the clock in the family room chimed ten times as Gilbird fluttered his little wings from his position in Prussia's hair. Stretching and rubbing the back of his neck, Prussia dragged the mouse pointer up to the Office button, selecting the 'save as' with a feeling of confidence and happily typing in some random name for the file before pressing 'save.'

And waiting.

And waiting some more.

And still waiting five minutes later.

Frustrated at the speed, he wiggled the mouse to find that the computer had frozen in place and assumedly had not saved his file. Fuck; West was going to kill him and feed his remains to the dogs. He panicked and began haphazardly hitting combinations of keys until finally the computer screen blinked before turning solid blue.

"No, no, no!" he cried out, banging the mouse on the mouse pad and hitting more keys. "Fuck, don't do this to me now! C'mon!"

Unfortunately, it seemed as though all hope was lost and he'd have to call in a computer repair technician or someone who actually knew more about computers than Prussia—he was pretty awesome at life, but his skill with technology was a little below par.

He really wanted to cry, but he held back the strangled sob like a man and dropped his head against the kitchen table with a moan. Surprised, Gilbird hopped off his head and landed on the tabletop, pecking lightly at his owner's head as Prussia groaned again and swore in German (something about 'fucking technology' and its 'hatred of the awesome me.' Or something about puppies; the world may never know). "My life sucks," he grumbled to himself, lifting his head and frowning at the Blue Screen of Death that taunted him relentlessly.

Glancing over at the phone on the wall, he spotted the computer techie's number written hastily on a Post-It Note from the last time he'd fucked up the computer and pursed his lips. He could get up, grab the phone, and hope to hell that the techie geek-boy was available for service right fucking now.

Or he could say to hell with it and go enjoy the afternoon out on the town.

He looked at the phone, then turned to look at the open front door.

Phone.

Front door.

Phone.

Front door.

Pho—fuck it. Scooping Gilbird up, he deposited the cheeping bird on top of his head and snagged the house keys, strutting out the door with a cocky smile on his face and his hands in his pockets. He'd call the geek later.

. . .

Chicken sandwich in hand and missing a bite, Mello poked the redhead sitting on the couch asleep—somehow still playing videogames and still winning at them, the freak—and muttered, "Fucking lazy ass," in Russian before devouring the rest of his brunch and heading upstairs to take a shower.

. . .

Pushing open the doors of the small convenience store and walking into the sunlight, Prussia uncapped the bottle of sunscreen he'd bought and applied liberal amounts to his exposed skin. It was bad enough that he was naturally white enough to be considered a walking light bulb, dare he say close to glow-in-the-dark, but looking like a human lobster would be undeniably worse.

So, the sun plus California plus albinism equaled Prussia nearly bathing in sunscreen.

Curse his sexy German blood.

Well, the beach wasn't going to get awesome by itself. What better way for its awesomeness to increase ten-fold than by him just showing up? Rubbing the last of the sunscreen that was on his hands all over his face and neck, he set a course for the beach at the end of the road while humming "Girls, Girls, Girls" and looking like a boss with his kickass shades.

Look out, world.

Badass has arrived.

. . .

"You are a fucking human anomaly, Matt," Mello said with a short laugh, toweling his hair and raising an eyebrow at the forever gamer. Growing tired of watching him play in his sleep, he lifted a hand and smacked his friend in the back of the head. "Wake up, damn it."

With a snort, Matt shot awake and said, "The cake is a lie!" while dropping the controller in shock and glancing around frantically. Noticing the vaguely amused blond behind him, he sighed in relief and ran his hand through shaggy red hair. "Damn, Mel. Ya freaked me the hell out."

Mello shrugged a shoulder and replied, "Go to bed like a normal person and you won't constantly be rudely awoken by the back of my hand. Savvy?"

Matt smacked him with a pillow.

. . .

Objective: Acquire vitamin-D

Status: Mission success

Notes: God damn, I'm awesome.

Prussia shook the seawater threatening to drip into his eyes out of his silvery hair, de-sanding his feet before slipping back into his flip-flops and clocking in a good day at the beach. Maybe now, what with the cleared head and relaxation time, he could get that damn computer to work again. As he walked up the street and in the direction of the house, colorfully rainbowic flyers caught his attention as they littered street lamps and tree trunks.

LOST DOG

GARAGE SALE, SATURDAY FROM 10 – 4

FOUND DOG

FREE COMPUTER REPAIR

WANT TO ENLARGE THE SIZE OF YOUR—what was that last one?

Doubling back, Prussia yanked the neon-green flyer boasting free computer repair off the pole and read it over. "Fix any problems, makes house calls, no charge…" he read aloud, raising his eyebrows in mild disbelief as he cocked his head to the side. "Hmm… better just take the flyer since I don't have my phone with me. Hope this geek really does mean it when he says free."

It'd be nice if tech-master flash could get to the house as soon as possible, too; Lord knows West would slaughter him if he came home to find his computer fucked for good and his notes not copied over because his computer was fucked for good. Germany was one scary motherfucker when he was pissed off, and Prussia had been on the wrong side of that enough to know that it's best to avoid making him mad.

Getting Romano mad was hella fun, though; especially when he was making pizza. Throw those toppings, Roma—throw 'em like you've never thrown 'em before.

Well, son of a shit.

Now he was hungry.

. . .

There were some things in life that a man always took seriously, including sports, beer, sex, and the thing that Matt—poor, easily distracted, can-never-make-up-his-damn-mind Matt—found himself faced with in the dairy section of the grocery store.

Cheddar or American.

Adjusting the hand basket higher up his arm so it rested neatly in the crook of his elbow, he pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose and huffed. It was really a difficult choice, the cheese, because the wrong one could ruin a perfectly acceptable sandwich and any sandwiches that were to follow; taste matters. A lot.

Should he go with the bold, in-your-face taste of cheddar?

Or American, the milder cousin of cheddar that likes to sit in the corner and color?

Honestly. Why was it so damn hard? He would ask one of the store attendants, but that would mean downgrading his legitimacy as a man, for real men neither asked for help nor directions—no matter how lost or confused they were.

Cheddar?

Or American?

I'm a motherfucking genius, he told himself, shifting where he stood and kneading the knot out of the back of his neck. This should be fucking easy for me. Why the hell is it so damn frustrating for me to just pick one?

Really. After all, he was a geni—hold the phone.

So began the dawning of realization. "I'm a genius," he said out loud, nodding as if agreeing with himself, "so there shouldn't be any reason why I can't come up with a logical solution to this problem. Maybe, just maybe, if I think a little harder…"

Wait.

What if he just… Hell, the thought never occurred to him! The solution had been staring him in the face the whole time! It seemed so simple once he really thought about it, and he wondered why he hadn't figured that out in the first place.

Cheddar…

and American.

Dropping both packages of cheese into his basket confidently, he bragged, "I'm fuckin' amazin'," and sauntered over to the checkout line.

Ah, the power of the brilliant minds of Wammy's finest at work.

. . .

5-6-2.

Glance.

4-6-7.

One last look.

8-9-0-1.

Swelling with the feeling of accomplishment because he's just that awesome, Prussia hit the 'talk' button on West's phone and held the receiver to his ear. The soothing sounds of the ringing were interrupted after just a few moments and a voice—distinctly American, and from the accent probably someone raised on the East Coast—said, "Hi, how the fuck are ya, my name's Matt. Ya callin' 'bout the computer repair?"

Wow. All Americans were the type to get all up in your business. Made America the perfect representative of the entire population, the brazen Dummkopf. "Er, yes. My brother's computer froze while I was using it and after something happened, which totally wasn't my fault, by the way, the Blue Screen of Death took over." He hoped his tone conveyed the Capitalized Importance the words had.

"Huh. Sounds like someone—" Oh, sarcasm. Below the belt, Herr Jackass. "—started hittin' random keys hopin' it'd do somethin'. Am I correct in assumin' so?"

In a small voice, Prussia replied, "…maybe."

"Is the need urgent, or can ya wait 'til tomorrow?"

Prussia laughed nervously. "Unless you want to come over tomorrow to find me in the form of doggy food bits, today would be nice. If that's okay with you."

Awkward silence, then, "I fix computers that idiots fuck up. I have nothin' but free time on my hands. Just give me the address and I'll be there as fast as I can."

"Thanks."

"Oh, don't thank me yet; your computer's still fucked to high heaven. Imbecile."