AN: Wow, it's been a long time since I wrote this. I figured I might want to go back and 'remaster' it, since my writing style has changed a bit, and I decided to do away with phonetic accents. Read it in the accents if you like - this story is rather of a love letter to the English dub - but I won't spell them out. It was funny, but not really the best idea, when I came to think of it.
Setting: That F'ing Island
Chapter 1: In which oddly omnipresent marshmallows and pasta in the stars indirectly cause a very bad thing to happen to America.
"Hey!" The ash-blonde nation indignantly lowered the binoculars and, with a rustle, emerged from the tropical shrubbery. "S'mores are supposed to have chocolate in them! We'll show them!"
Four other figures popped out of their hiding places. "Huh?"
"That's right!" America declared. "We can have a campfire too, can't we, boys?"
The others looked at each other. They had a sinking feeling that they would have to go along with this.
So, within a half-hour, they were all huddled together on the beach, poking their marshmallows into the orange flames, listening to Britain's creepy-ass campfire song.
"Briiiiiing on the fire... Briiiiiing on the hell..."
America interrupted the quiet spell that was falling over them. "I feel like we're summoning the Devil!" he wailed.
Far across the beach, on another end of the island, three quiet figures were lying around another small, now banked fire. A black-haired young man looked up and pointed at the sky. "I think that group there looks like a ship," he murmured.
"Oh, yeah!" exclaimed one of the others. "I see it, Japan! And that bunch over there looks like a ravioli! And over there it looks just like a bowl of spaghetti! And... hey, Germany, why don't you play, too? It's easy! You just look at the stars and make a picture!"
"I... er..." The third man tried to come up with something quickly. "Er... that group of stars over by the horizon... I think it looks like a... a scarecrow." It was the first thing that came to mind after 'cross', which would have been kind of lame.
"Really?" the second man chirped, brushing red hair out of his eyes. "Hmm... I can't see it..."
"Er... those over there would be the head and the arms, and that bright one right over the land would be the tip of the stick."
"Ohhh," said the red-haired man. "I get it! Nice one, Germany!" He put his hands behind his head and relaxed. "Wow..." he said wonderingly. "That's a really suspiciously bright star on the horizon there, isn't it?"
Germany and Japan sat up straight at the same time and looked at each other.
"That's not a star!" they both exclaimed, and reached for their weapons.
Yep. That's right, Allies. So, whose clever idea was it to make a fire again?
(Cue opening credits)
The sun rose.
America opened his eyes heroically; that is to say, he opened his eyes. What a nice day, he thought, before he remembered they were in the middle of a war. Well, that was a bummer, but he could maybe put up with it as long as there were hamburgers somewhere around here somewhere, because he was seriously starving. Warm and comfortable, yes, but also starving.
He unwrapped himself from his giant cocoon of blankets and looked over at Britain, who was still asleep next him on the inflatable mattress they were sharing, and curled up in a ball, shivering a little. Aw, America thought. How cute. He yawned and sat up. "Man, I'm hungry," he said aloud. "I wonder if there's any food around here."
Halfway through a dream about being locked inside refrigerators, Britain heard a voice and woke up.
"Aw, damn," the voice was complaining. "Where did that mysterious bag of factory-made marshmallows that appeared last night out of nowhere when I said we should make s'mores go? Why isn't there anything to eat?"
Britain looked down at himself and realized why he had been so cold the whole night. "What the hell happened to all my blankets?" he howled.
Then, out of nowhere, he was buried by a massive heap of softness. "Sorry, bro," said America, from somewhere above him. "Here ya go. It's, like, totally weird, but all your blankets seemed to have magically migrated over to my half of the mattress. Guess they just like me better or something."
"America!" raged Britain, struggling out of the fabric mountain. "Do you have any idea how cold it was last night? You sheet-stealing Yankee! I'm never sleeping with you again!"
On another mattress, a supposedly sleeping lump burst into bouts of hysterical French laughter.
Too late, Britain realized how he could have better phrased what he'd said. "Shut up, you pervert frog!" he yelled, going beet red.
"Dude," mused the oblivious America. "What's his problem?"
"Ah, Britain, do not worry," France said to the enraged English nation, grinning wickedly. "If you have a problem sleeping with l'Amerique you can always share with me, non?"
"Non," said Britain stiffly. "Definitely going with non." Of course France had to say something like that, just to get his goat. Britain was sure he wasn't really the lecherous creep he sometime pretended to be, but he was bloody annoying, and he was French, and overall he was just too much sometimes.
France raised an eyebrow. "Then... perhaps America would like to-"
"Absolutely not," Britain snarled.
At the Allied camp, the sleeping arrangements had been very well thought out. There were five nations, and there were three mattresses, each just big enough for two people at most. That meant two pairs and one singleton.
Much to his dismay, France was unanimously voted to have the bed to himself.
"It's not up to you," said France to Britain, miffed. "I shall ask him myself."
"No way!" America exclaimed, before anyone said anything else. "I'm not sharing with him!"
Britain looked subtly relieved. "That's the first sensible thing you've ever said in your whole life, America."
At the same time, France, looking hurt, asked, "Why not?"
"Oh," America said. "Sorry, France, but... you kinda snore."
They both gave America a long look, and the nation simply smiled back and wandered off to rummage in the supply bags for food.
"How the hell would he know that?" Britain wondered. He sounded like he didn't really want to know the answer, which showed that sometimes he had just as dirty a mind as France did.
~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~
"God, I'm so hungry," America kept on whining. "I wanna burger."
"Just... shut up, already," snapped Britain. "We haven't got any, all right?"
"Little question?" said Russia, holding up a hand. "Where did those bags of marshmallows go? Why don't we have those?"
"I think America ate them all," China answered, and added, "Which was very rude of him."
"No, no... I mean the actual bags," said Russia pensively. "Oh, well. Never mind. Silly thought."
(Interesting side note: The island the nations were on happened to have a special marshmallow spawning ability, among other things, but the trash always vanished like leprechaun gold in the morning. And also, no one ever noticed this except Russia, but he's a little weird, so he isn't bothered much by these kinds of things.)
"This is tres infortune," France was moaning. "We have nothing to eat but stale rations and..." He shuddered. "Scones."
Britain's head came up indignantly. "This is a bloody war we're in," he said frostily. "You should be happy to have something as nice as a bag of fresh scones."
"They're even worse when they're fresh," France muttered.
"We ought to go foraging for food," said China quickly, before there could be an argument. "There should be some fruit or edible plants we can find here. Who wants to go out looking?"
"What?" America asked incredulously. "Plants? As in, green healthy stuff like spinach and broccoli? Ew! Gross!"
"Good!" said China, with a steely glint in his eye. "We have a volunteer!"
"Who, me?" asked America. "No way! I can't go! I need to stay here and defend the camp because-"
~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0
"... because I'm the hero," America grumbled, as he pushed through the jungle undergrowth. "And heroes don't go fruit picking. That's what migrant farm workers are for- owww!" A branch he had been holding away from him had snapped back and smacked him on the face. "Jeez!"
As he tramped on, he complained out loud. "This island doesn't seem to like me very much," he said to himself, brushing twigs out of his hair. "It keeps on putting roots out for me to trip over... and growing random trees in my way so I walk right into them... and dropping giant neon green spiders onto my head. This is a total conspiracy! And, I still haven't found any food! What does a fah-ru-it look like, anyway?"
(Side note: America, as many of you may know, is not a country that knows what gourmet food looks like. All right, so there are some places like New York City where you can get any kind of dish known to man, but I mean, come on. That probably just means he gets mixed up more often. This is America we're talking about.)
America kept on walking, scanning the trees for any sign of food. But all he kept seeing were weird colorful things hanging from some branches that splatted when you dropped them. Some of them even had spines.
"Hang on," he said suddenly. "What's that weird rustling?"
The weird rustling stopped.
"Huh. Whatever." The nation shrugged and continued on his way.
In the bushes, Germany relaxed and looked at Italy and Japan. "Do you think he will fall for it?" he whispered anxiously.
"Of course he will," Japan reassured him. "This is America, remember?"
The currently foraging Allied Power was starting to wonder about all those soft colorful things hanging from branches. Some of them were starting to smell good. "Hey! Maybe these are those fruit things China was talking about!" He picked an orangy-green lump off a tree and sniffed it.
"Wow!" he exclaimed. The lump, or fruit, or whatever it was, smelled delicious. "I should totally eat the hell out of this thing!" And he started to tear the skin off, but then his attention was diverted by a new smell. America looked around the tree and his eyes lit up behind their thin glasses. "Aha! That's more like it!"
There a small stump in the middle of the clearing, and on it sat a plate of slightly steaming... pasta?
"Kinda weird," said America to himself, as he approached the plate. "But, I bet there's some kind of noodle plant that I've never heard of. Yeah! That's it. A pasta plant. I mean, where else does it come from? Duh." Dropping the fruit, he eagerly stretched out a hand to take the plate, and took a final step forward.
The second his foot landed, a noose tightened and America was jerked off his feet to dangle in the air from a stout rope wound around his ankle. "AGH!" he shouted. "What the heck is this...? Aw, crap!"
The three Axis Powers - Germany, Italy, and Japan - all exploded from their hiding place in a shower of leaves. "Get him!" cried Italy, and then ran over to the stump and rescued his precious pasta. "Japan! Grab his arms!" Germany ordered, trying to fend off America's flailing attempts at blows. "Italy! Stop trying to get the pasta and get the chains! NOW!"
"You'll never take me, you stupid Nazi!" America was shouting. "I'm America and I can beat the hell out of you any time I- and where the heck did you get chains, anyway?"
"Italy! Where is mein pistol?"
"Here!" The nation tossed something Germany's way. He caught it and then swung around, wrapping his fingers around the grip and clicking the safety off in one fluid motion. The barrel of the gun poked right into the forehead of America, who immediately stopped moving. His eyes went very wide.
"Right," said Germany, glaring at America. "If you try to scream for help, I will shoot you. If you try to fight back, I will shoot you. If you try to run, I will shoot you. In other words, you will do exactly as I say, or else-"
"You'll shoot me?" squeaked America, whose eyes had crossed trying to look at the end of the gun.
"SPEAKING IS FORBIDDEN!" Germany roared. "Now, Italy and Japan. Do you have the chains and the gag?"
In response, the other two held up some chinking lengths of steel and a bandana.
"Excellent," said Germany. "Well done, you two. Italy, as a reward for your surprisingly useful idea, you may eat the pasta. And now, we will tie up our hostage."
"That was surprisingly easy," Japan murmured, as he stuffed the bandana into the frightened America's mouth. "We should have tried this long ago. What do you think the Allies will do to get him back?"
"How about, anything we want?" suggested Italy brightly. He pumped a fist in the air. "Hooray for us!"
~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~
Towards midday, Britain and Russia returned to base camp at the same time from different directions, both carrying heaping armfuls of fruit. Not long after America was gone, China had decided that everyone else should go foraging as well. And, without bossypants America around to order people around, somehow China had ended up as the one in charge.
"Well, I suppose we won't starve," Britain said, dumping the fruit onto the sand by the crates of supplies. He wiped sweat off his forehead. "Who knew this island would have this much food on it?"
"Like the marshmallows?" Russia asked pleasantly, sitting down on top of the crate and stretching, enjoying the sun.
Britain frowned. "What marshmallows?" But he passed it off as one of Russia's freaky moments. "Hold it. Who's supposed to be guarding the camp?" He looked around and spotted a figure sprawled out under a tiny makeshift tent. "France! Wake up, you idiot! You're supposed to be watching over the supplies!"
France crawled out of his spot of shade. "Ah, Britain. I'm so sorry, but I had such a terrible night's sleep. I was so cold and alone..." He made puppy eyes at the other nation.
"Oh, really? I didn't see you without any covers because your stupid bedmate stole them all. And speaking of which, where on Earth is America? Shouldn't he be back by now?"
As this was going on, China appeared out of the jungle and jogged over to the group. "Has anyone seen America?" he asked. "Is he still out there?"
"I was just asking that," said Britain. "Bloody fool's probably pigging out on all the fruit he can find under some blasted tree. Why don't we-?"
"What's that?" he asked, and then dove for the scrap of paper that was fluttering out of the corner of the bedsheets. Britain read aloud, with all the Allies peeping over his shoulder,
Surrender now if you ever want to see America again.
From, the Axis
(Deutschland, Nihon, & Italia~)"
Also, Italy had signed a little heart after his name.
"They've got America..." said Britain numbly. "They've got..." He looked to his left (France) and right (Russia and China). Then, slowly, a maleficent grin appeared on his face. "They've got America..."
Russia had a similarly evil smile, and a purple sort of haze seemed to be filling his eyes. France chuckled out loud, and China quirked an eyebrow up.
"No more America," Russia sang quietly.
"No more hero this and hero that," added China.
France joined in. "No more disgusting hamburgers all over the place."
"No more butchering of the English language," said Britain vindictively. "No more orders, no more idiot plans, no more blanket stealing..."
They all were starting to laugh now. "He's probably bring tied up right as we speak, whining about how he doesn't have any food," China told them, satisfied.
"Serve him right," said Britain. "I've had enough of his insults and arrogance and... By Jove, I've a brilliant idea! Where are the binoculars?"
"What do you want to do?" asked Russia, handing them over.
"Well, we know where the Axis are camping, don't we? Why don't we go and take a look? See if America's getting what's coming to him, eh?"
Hearing this, Russia's eyes sparkled. "Da," he said gleefully. "I would like to do that very much."
~0~0~ Hetalia ~0~0~
"Give me the binoculars, France," China hissed. "You've been hogging them the whole time!"
"Ohonhonhon..." France laughed. "Look at you, Amerique... I always wondered what you'd look like all tied up..."
China snatched the field glasses away and then looked through them over the edge of the cliff. "There you go," he said, to the far-off prisoner. "And that's what you get for being a total ass."
"Let me see," Russia begged. "I would like to have a look, too."
"All right, all right, one second." China adjusted the focus a little, stared through the glasses a little more, and then handed them over.
Russia seemed to be simply burning with evil purple flame. "Kolkolkolkol..." he said happily. "America, you are too stupid to live..."
Cramped between the others, Britain made a swipe for the binoculars. "Come on, you three. Let me have a look. It was my idea, and I haven't even gotten to see him yet."
"Here you are," said Russia, feeling very benevolent. "Have fun."
Britain put his eyes to the binoculars and zeroed in on America.
The Axis had tied him to a stout palm tree that stuck out among the others in that it was practically on the beach rather than next to it. The nation was almost entirely wrapped in thick steel chains (where did they get those? Britain wondered), and had a gag in his mouth.
America's glasses were askew, but he couldn't reach up to adjust them, and he had a swelling bruise over his cheekbone. His head hung low, and he looked for all the world like a whipped puppy.
Slowly Britain took the binoculars away from his eyes. The European nation's villainous smirk had vanished, and a look of wobbly-eyed distress had, bit by bit, replaced it.
"So, what do you think?" grinned France. "Good, non? Oh, dear." He had seen the Englishman's expression. "I knew it."
"We couldn't just rescue him a little?" Britain pleaded pitifully. "Since he's learned his lesson now and all that?"
The remaining three Allies looked at one another and realized they were going to have to go ahead and save America.
"Oh, well," sighed Russia. "It was good while it lasted."
The group ducked back into the bushes.
TO BE CONTINUED MAYBE~
(Cue credits and Marukaite Chikyuu, America's version)