I don't own Hetalia! end/AN/
Wolakhota screamed when they tried to put him in the small airplane with England. He bit, he scratched, he kicked his naked legs with a fury seeming to befit a horse.
England groaned, trying to pin his arms to his sides and avoid the teeth. "Canada, do something!"
"Like what?" Canada demanded, holding down Wolakhota's legs.
It wasn't clear how they were going to get him across the ocean. It took a few hours to cross the thing, and no matter how occupied they got him with food, England would eventually run out. And there was the matter of the pilot to think of; if Wolakhota got loose and up in the pilot's cabin, then what would happen?
In the end, they duct taped his arms and legs. It felt horrible to do it to a child, but they didn't have the proper restraints to do anything else, and there was no way he could stay here in the former United States of America.
He screamed, he cried, and tore at the duct tape with his teeth, but it wouldn't come undone. England bundled him into a seat, wrapping him up in emergency blankets and hoping to somehow allay his guilt.
"There there, it's all right," he promised, which only brought on more screaming, and urination.
"Good luck!" Canada called into the plane, and then shut the door.
Well, it was all right and easy for him, England grumbled, trying to clean up Wolakhota without getting bitten. His brown skin was spotted with bites, mostly from bugs, though it looked like he'd angered a couple mice in his time.
Wolakhota cried, snarling at the same time and surely thinking how he would take revenge on the strange pale man who dared wipe him up.
"How am I going to explain this?" England murmured to himself, thinking only of the urine-stained seat for right now. He imagined it would go something like this: 'Yes, we found a new nation in the woods in the former USA! What? What's this stain? Well, he's not exactly potty trained…'
Yes, that would just be lovely.
How was he supposed to do this again? Wolakhota was sure to be more of a handful than anything any of his colonies had ever been, even with the infamous event of Hong Kong peeing on his drapes. Poor lad had been frightened senseless, hidden in the drapes, and stayed there so long he couldn't control his bladder.
But again, Wolakhota was different; he was wild in a way no colony had been. England had surely convinced himself that other former colonies were savage, but they didn't hold a candle to Wolakhota.
The boy snapped at his fingers, nearly getting them in England's distractedness.
"Not today," England said, wagging a finger at him. That only seemed to incense him further.
"Look," England said with a sigh, "I'm only trying to help you. You'll be happy when we get there; there's a big yard, lots of grass, and you'll get plenty of food. I promise." He thought how fortunate he was to have a home in the country, where vegetation wasn't crowded out by buildings. Though, to be fair, a lot of his cities had taken a green initiative lately, and had begun with many floral displays and trees.
But that wasn't the point right now. Wolakhota needed somewhere to be able to run, and his home would provide that.
He couldn't help but think how much more space Canada had, how the place would be so much more familiar to Wolakhota… but no. He had to focus on the reality: he was in charge of Wolakhota.
Wolakhota's coffee bean eyes glinted with the simple hate of a young mind, and he kept his teeth bared.
But he wasn't struggling right now, choosing to lay still and breathe hate into the small area. He was good at it; it was stifling.
England ended up padding him up with more blankets on a different seat, then giving him his space. It was too much to hope for that he would calm down and understand…
Wolakhota ended up sleeping through the last hour, though he did growl in his sleep. He'd seemed agitated, and England, though not exactly pleased with how things were, could not blame him. He was being taken from everything he knew, what little there was. It had to be frightening.
When they landed, he came awake with a start, then began growling at England.
"Calm down, I'm coming, I'm coming," England replied, and he began unbuckled and unwrapping Wolakhota.
It only inspired anger in the tiny territory's eyes.
He was going to be bit, wasn't he? England felt almost resigned to the idea; but he couldn't just keep Wolakhota duct taped up, could he? But then, what about the trip through the airport?
True, it was a military airport, but all the towers and people and flashing lights… It would be an alien experience for Wolakhota.
It felt like he was kidnapping him or something, but the trip necessitated it. England slipped a pillowcase over Wolakhota's head, which led to screaming from the tiny nation.
"I know, I know… It's only until I get you in the car, all right?" He lifted his naked bundle and prayed that Wolakhota didn't need to go to the bathroom any time soon.
The air was colder outside than it had been back in America; Wolakhota stiffened instantly, shuddering and batting his duct tape bound hands against England's chest.
England tried to sound calming. "It's all right, I'm taking you home; you'll be safe there, and you'll be happy, I promise."
Growls came from within the pillow case.
A car was waiting for him, as well as a confused driver. But the driver said nothing about what appeared to be a kidnapping; he'd learned enough from driving around a nation to not question things.
England placed Wolakhota down on his naked butt, then sat next to him, buckling him in. He didn't want the sights to scare him, so he kept the pillow case on. It was breathable, and there was no harm to Wolakhota to keep it on.
The ride was surprisingly quiet, despite Wolakhota wriggling in his seat and trying to escape the seat belt. England hoped it was the lack of stimuli, and not a concentration on trying to poo that had Wolakhota so quiet.
It was only a twenty minute drive to his home, but it seemed like an eternity, waiting for Wolakhota to freak out and unleash vomit and excrement everywhere. He'd certainly eaten enough, England reasoned.
The driver tried to play music, but England got him to turn it off immediately. The last thing Wolakhota needed was more stimuli.
At last, they arrived at home, and England carefully removed Wolakhota from the car. He thanked the driver, and carried Wolakhota inside. There, he got a pair of scissors and cut through the duct tape.
Wolakhota ripped the pillow case off almost instantly, and bared his teeth at England. But his eyes looked around in fright, taking in the all too different rooms; it wasn't an endless stretch of trees, but rather a finite concrete box. So he screamed and dove under the couch.
England distinctly recalled Australia hiding there when he'd first brought him home; if any of the colonies had been wild, it was Australia.
"You can't stay under there; come out." He patted the floor, hoping it would encourage Wolakhota to come out. It did not.
He tried laying sweets out on the floor. He cringed a bit at doing so, since the floor could hardly be called clean enough to eat off of, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Wolakhota wasn't enticed, however.
"Come on, I promise it will be all right; just come and get the food."
He was met with a suspicious glare.
England groaned. He would have to just wait, wouldn't he? So he grabbed some blankets and set them up on the floor, put a plastic container of water next to the food, and sat in a chair and waited.
And waited. And waited.
Eventually, he dozed off.
/AN/ I know, it's not as long as the first chapter, but I hope it's satisfactory; I intend to make this a long story, if people like it!