Disclaimer: Simply put... All the characters and plot in relation to Axis Powers Hetalia belong to Himaruya Hidekaz and I make no money off this. The OCs, however, belong to me, as does whatever plot that shines through.

Warnings: Swearing, OOCness. Other than that, all spelling/grammatical errors are my own. If you spot any, mention them and I will fix them. The same goes for wrong or misinterpreted information or events.

The Attack of Sir Tapsalot

He remembered leaving a (somewhat) peaceful meeting.

England, America and France had been arguing about whatever they could find (but that was normal; that's been going on for as long as Latvia could remember). Canada had seemed content watching, his lips curled up in a sweet smile as France threw his tea cup at England, who'd thrown his saucer back and managed to hit America instead (Latvia wondered if France had had a lot of practice dodging crockery throughout the years; he was very good).

China, Japan and Korea had huddled together, discussing things that Latvia couldn't hear from his place on the other side of the round table (contributed by England). Whilst Greece had been snoozing beside Japan, his head rested on the quiet man's shoulder. He hadn't looked comfortable, but he'd managed to remain asleep for the 20 minutes prior – perhaps he was used to it?

Beside him was Australia, who'd had his name tag promptly switched with and by Turkey when he'd first spied Greece's beside his (why the person who'd arranged the seating had thought putting the two next to each other was a brilliant idea, Latvia couldn't understand).

Across from America, France, Canada and England, Romano had been abusing Spain who'd been daydreaming (if the man's face and Romano's shouting were anything to go by). He'd been the loudest person in the room by far.

Veneziano had been sitting beside his brother, smiling and offering snacks to Germany who'd scowled and ordered the cheerful Italian back into his seat. He'd been sat beside Austria, who'd seemed content to ignore him as he chatted with Poland (who'd inquired as to why Hungary wasn't present – if Latvia had heard correctly, she'd come down with the flu and was confined to bed). The blonde had taken Prussia's usual seat.

Lithuania had taken a seat beside the bubbly blonde, with Estonia (why did he always get to sit beside Liet?) and him seated to his right. He and his brothers were taking turns occupying Russia's attention (he'd just kept staring and smiling in that creepy, 'I know where you live, how to sneak in and haunt the underside of your bed, so join me now, ha ha ha' way only he could pull off) from their places across from him. As a result they had taken turns talking quietly with the nations within close proximity and quivering like leaves in the wind, in their seats.

It was on Russia's third round that Latvia had given into the urge to run away, retreating to the bathroom for a brief moment to calm himself and breathe. His brothers would have informed him if anything of great importance took place…

Latvia hadn't thought he'd been gone long. Ten rounds of the meticulously clean, white room had seen barely five minutes, if the clock was correct. But he'd walked in on total anarchy.

"France, you git, move your ass!"

"It's coming closer! Russia, use your pipe! Smash it!!"

"M-Me? But it's huge!"

"Japan! Use your sword!"

He stood at the door, dumbfounded as he watched all the nations stand, run around to where Russia, France and England had been sitting (but were now edging hastily away from, as though lava was about to lick at their boots) and swiftly retreat as well. Japan had edged the slightest bit forward, sword drawn and a serious look upon his face.

The thing must have lunged, because they all stumbled back and Japan retreated to the rear of the group as silently as he'd advanced.

"How did it get in here?!" He heard Romano shout.

"Germany, Germany! It's really hairy!"

"Italy, get away from it!"

They'd continued to slip away, until they'd all circled it or pressed themselves against the table's edge. Latvia saw someone's hand grapple with the front of America's neat suit and pull him mercilessly to the front of the group.

"America! You're the hero – get in there and defeat this menace!"

"W-Well, I would, but, ah, you know – wouldn't want to hog all of the limelight." He chuckled weakly before he gasped, "Russia, it's going for your feet!"

The crowd screamed in unison, splitting up and tumbling in all directions like ants when it rained, knocking down chairs and spilling drinks as they stumbled to get out of the way of – what ever was there.

Latvia watched with wide eyes as Russia clambered onto the table with his face ghostly white, and cried, "It's after me! It's after me!"

It was quite a sight. Latvia doubted he'd have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes (and he had a feeling Sealand wouldn't either, when he told him about it). But as Russia continued to shiver and hop on the sturdy table, China and his brothers huddled near the back wall, England and France were very near clinging to each other from where they lay (they'd tripped over each other's feet, if the brief flashes of blond and colourful cursing were anything to go by), whilst the other nations had scuttled half way across the room or joined Russia on the table (Greece was the only one still in his seat; his head lolling forward as though he were a puppet with cut strings. He dozed peacefully).

His curiosity was getting the better of him (though he'd learnt over time that it was best to remain at a safe distance – especially if Russia was scared of it) as he leant against the doorjamb and attempted to peer around the Spain, the Italy brothers and Germany (who were huddled so close together they might as well have been a wall). But to no avail. He bit his lip – to risk his life or to never find out what he could use to keep Russia at bay? He giggled hysterically; he must be insane to actually be thinking about stepping closer…

"What the bloody hell?"

Latvia jumped, slamming his shoulder against the door, his hands clamping together in front of him as he stared up at the newcomer with large eyes. His eyes watered as an ache began to throb from within his shoulder – he'd have a bruise in the morning.

Australia stared down at him with an odd expression – obviously he thought him strange; all he'd done was announce himself (albeit loudly). But he soon turned back to the scene in front of them, and his face lit up with a huge grin. He leant down close (Latvia retreated as much as he could without being noticed), placing one hand up to the side of his tanned face as he whispered, "Got any idea what's goin' on? Never seen the pom or yank act like that."

"Ah," Latvia smiled shakily in return as he rubbed his tender shoulder, "N-Not really."

Latvia could honestly say he didn't know Australia well. He could barely remember the last time he'd talked to him – but he seemed friendly enough as he straightened, stuck his callous ridden hands in his pockets and watched.

"Australia!"

Latvia winced again, this time landing a shoulder in the taller nation's side. The Australian grunted, sent him a befuddled look that included a quirked, bushy brow before his attention was turned on England.

England glared across the room from where he was standing on his seat, his knuckles white, "You have experience dealing with these beasts, don't you? Get rid of it!"

By this stage most of the countries who hadn't sought refuge on the now creaking table had pressed themselves against the back wall, their eyes wide (or closed, as was the case with Veneziano – he seemed a bit confused) and bodies rigid.

"Poland, please control yourself, you're rocking the table!"

"Ew! But it's, like, humping the chair!"

"It's trying to climb it!"

"Australia!!"

Latvia watched as Australia strode forward, whinging about how he wasn't England's to boss around and asking what in the blue blazes they were pissing themselves over. Latvia wondered too, especially when he caught sight of it.

It was black, kind of round and it reminded Latvia of a smudge of charcoal from where he was standing. He gulped, steeling his already shaken nerves as he crept forward, careful to keep himself hidden behind Australia (in case whatever it was decided he'd make an easy target).

Australia let out a sharp whistle, "Bloody hell," He knelt down a few feet away, "She's a biggy, isn't she? Not as big as the one I found in the car, but they don't usually get that big 'round here, right?"

Latvia bent at the waist, his hands on his knees. He was careful too keep his feet behind Australia as he peered over the older nation's shoulder.

Oh, a spider. And it was much bigger than those he'd seen before (it looked to be half the size of his palm when it stretched out).

"Is it v-venemous?" He asked quietly.

Australia spun, his dark brown, shining shoes squeaking horrendously against the floor, "Think so. Dunno how it got in here. Could'a sworn I'd shaken m'laundry off before I came..."

"It's one of yours?" England interjected before Australia could continue. His colouring was nearly as pale as Russia's (who looked slightly woozy, as though he'd had too much to drink).

"Doubt it. Couldn't be sure though." He grinned, "Hey, you wanna help me find out? If ya dead in ten minutes, we'll know she's mine."

"T-Ten minutes?!"

Latvia gulped; so it wasn't like the little spiders he'd found in his crops – they could barely hurt a fly (or he hoped so, because he really didn't want to think about what could have happened if they were dangerous; he'd fed them often enough).

He tapped Australia on the shoulder, "Shouldn't we t-take it outside?"

Australia regarded the spider (who was now halfway up the chair's leg) with a stern expression that didn't seem to belong on his face (he reminded Latvia of England when he did it).

After a moment he frowned, "Nah. She could breed. Dunno what it could do for the wildlife 'round here."

Russia chuckled weakly, "I've heard spiders don't like the cold, yes? We're in the middle of Quebec and it's chilly outside."

Australia shook his head, his scowl cutting deeper into his face, "That's inhumane. How can ya torture a defenceless animal like that?"

"Aren't spiders, like, insects?" Poland asked as he clung to Lithuania's left arm and peered over the edge of the table as much as he dared.

"Nah, mate. It's got too many legs to be an insect."

Latvia gulped again and took a moment to worry his bottom lip, before he asked shakily, "I-It's getting awfully high – should we move the chair away from the table?"

The room was suddenly filled with noises of agreement – murmurs, shouts and 'uh hah's.

Australia shrugged, stood, grabbed the back of the chair and – "You'll let me know if she let's go?" – tugged it back roughly.

Immediately the room was filled with movement and screams:

"Down there! Down there!"

"It's moving!"

"She's very fast, ne, Germany?"

"Latvia, get up here at once!"

But it wasn't heading towards him. Rather, it was heading towards the table again. Perhaps it did have a thing for Russia?

"Latvia, can ya pass me one of those folders?"

The younger nation pointed to the files sitting innocently on the table. Australia nodded. He jerkily reached for the closest one.

"Not mine!"

The chorus made him jump, and he stumbled down the table to grab his own. He thought he knew what Australia was going to do – he'd done it often enough back home, with the ones he'd kept as pets (of which he'd be sure to keep near his bedroom door and window – he'd feel safer knowing Russia wouldn't come within ten feet of them).

Latvia cleared his throat, "I-I'll find a c-container?"

"Yeah. Just use the teapot – the pom's got plenty more."

Latvia steadfastly ignored England shriek of anger – luckily it seemed directed at the once again crouching nation, not him, or he feared his knees would have turned to jelly right then and there – grabbed the splendidly decorated teapot (it was beautiful, white with cobalt flowers blossoming all over it), ran to the window, threw out the last remnants of tea (someone screeched, Latvia stuttered a quick apology) and hurried back to the centre of the room.

Australia grinned up at him, "Tissues?"

Latvia nodded and fetched them as well.

The entire room seemed to wait with bated breath as Australia placed the teapot on the floor, stuffed it's snout with the tissues, and crept forward, the folder held expertly in his hand.

The spider seemed keen to appear to be nothing more than a black spot on the marble floor. It was almost as though it sensed its impending capture (or doom, if the majority of the nations had their way).

"When I drop it in, I want ya to slap on the lid." Australia said, "Not too hard, or we'll have to start again…"

Latvia nodded, his bottom lip once again snagged tightly between his teeth.

The room fell silent.

"C'mon, sweet heart," Australia cooed softly, "You're not goin' ta survive out here. One of these blokes has your name written on the bottom of their boot…"

The corner of Latvia's pale folder poked the spider's two right, front legs. It edged away, placing them back down, this time on the folder. This continued for a lengthy moment longer – prod, scuttle, stop, prod, scuttle, stop – until the black arachnid was clashing horribly with the pale yellow of his folder.

Australia moved carefully, his hand holding the opposite corner of the folded plastic, and knelt beside the teapot, "Right, Latvia, seal her in."

With a gentle tilt and shake, the spider had dropped into the dark dampness within the pot.

Latvia jumped to clamp the lid down, his hands feeling numb as he lifted them away.

A collective sigh breezed throughout the room.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Prussia bit his lip. His head and neck – oh God it was going through his shirt! – They throbbed with a searing ache that made him want to scream at the top of his lungs and roll around in the snow. Which had not been on his agenda; he was not supposed to end his day having to decide between more burns and frostbite.

Whoever had thought drenching him in tea was a good idea was going to suffer. Not only did it smell funny, but it was hot (fucking steaming).

Worst yet, he couldn't hear any screaming.

His pale brows drew themselves down and into the centre of his forehead as he slipped a small notepad as he strained his ears. Surely they couldn't have defeated Sir Tapsalot (named because it took a lot of prodding to get him to do anything interesting) already? That spider was badass (and quick too).

After a minute of sitting and listening (was this what it was like for Austria? It was no wonder the guy was such a stiff!), he brandished a pen and scribbled:

Operation: Sir Tapsalot's Invasion – FAILURE. Proceed to Operation: Tie Dye.

Newest Mission: Find the bastard that threw the tea and teach him a lesson (could have potential as an accomplice).

Woffy: Kink Meme fill. Couldn't help myself after reading the comments left there (I've actually had a few of those spider/car moments).

I feel most in tune with Russia in this. XD I'm shit scared of spiders too (well, when they're a lot or if they're huge - I'm pretty awesome at squishing the little ones though).