That's right, everyone! Spazzkitty, that insane author who is addicted to pudding actually finished a chapter of this fic! Surprising, huh? I'd like to dedicate this to PrueWhiteMagic. You wanted an excerpt, so HERE'S THE WHOLE DANG CHAPTER! THAT'S RIGHT. HOW DO YA LIKE ME NOW? BTW, There's a poll on my page for pairings! That's right! So GO VOTE FOR PRUCAN. I mean, the pairing you want. That's right. Eheheh. NOT LIKE I'M BIASED OR ANYTHING. AND NOT LIKE PRUCAN IS LOSING (WHICH IT IS). But anyway. I don't own Hetalia and ON WITH THE FIC!

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Parent Trap

Chapter 8: Of Dirty Metropolises

Feliciano watched with bated breath as Romano clambered into the limousine after his beloved butler, Spain. He noted with glee that Antonio didn't seem to realize that anything had changed with the boy he was supposed to be watching (although he was admittedly oblivious anyway). As the car drove off in a shower of gravel and dirt, Feliciano leaned back into his cabin and hugged himself, beaming in innocent delight. Everything was going so well! He was going to be Lovi, and Lovi was going to be him, and they were gonna solve mysteries and it was gonna be just like Scooby-Doo! He walked over to the bottom bunk and plopped down on it, ignoring the protesting screech of the rusty springs. He suddenly felt lonely, just sitting on the sheetless mattress, staring at the suitcase that was not his propped haphazardly against the wall. On it rested a brown cap of Romano's that he has seen his probably-brother wear on numerous occasions. It was probably Lovi's favorite, which meant it was his favorite now since he was Lovi and Lovi was him and—it was all so confusing!

Feli shook these ideas from his head (he was really more of a live-in-the-moment person who just took things as they came; he didn't like being bogged down by confusing thoughts) and looked at his new cheap wristwatch Lovi had bought off a street vendor near Chinatown. It took him a little bit to remember how to read analog clocks, but he finally deduced that Lovino's uncle Lived-In-Canada—oh wait, just Canada—would be here to pick him up in about five minutes. He stood up, grabbed the hat, and jammed it purposefully on his head before running out the door. He had just one thing left to take care of.

--

Germany was halfway into his car when he felt something tackle forcefully him around the waist and latch on like a parasite. He sighed, trying to separate the deathgrip the blubbering Italian had around him. "Feliciano, what are you doing?" he said exasperatedly

"L-L-LUDWIIIIIG," he sobbed. The boy in question just looked down at him.

"Why are you wearing your brother's hat?" Italy said nothing. He couldn't very well say, 'Oh, because I have a ton of gel in my hair because I'm trying to look like Romano who may or may not be my brother so we can switch places and possibly figure out if we are related or what if anything happened with our dads and his uncle is coming really really soon and I wanted to say goodbye to you before I left and I didn't want you to ask any questions because the explanation would take too long and we wouldn't have time to say goodbye!' For one thing, that would defeat the purpose of the attempt to save time. For another, even dense little Italy could infer that straight-laced, serious Germany probably wouldn't approve of this plan. And, of course, there was the issue of the brunette's hysterical crying, which made speech almost impossible.

He attempted to say something, but all that came out was 'SAD!!" Germany's frustrated expression melted into one almost like compassion. He wrapped his arms around the smaller boy, which only made him snivel more. "Calm down. Take a deep breath and tell me what's wrong."

Feliciano did as instructed, then blurted out, "I'll miss you so much, Ludwig!" The blonde felt his face go pink.

"Is that what this is about?" He asked, his voice coming out without the annoyance he had meant for it to have. Italy didn't say a word, just pressed his face further into Germany's shirt. "Listen, Italy. You don't have to be so upset about this." Ludwig tried to make his voice sound comforting, which was pretty difficult as his windpipe was sealed off by the chokehold around his lungs.

"Yes I dooo! I'll never see you again!" he bawled.

"Well…Maybe you will," he said rather unconvincingly. Honestly, Ludwig saw himself as a practical person and felt that meeting at all was coincidental enough (Especially since Feliciano lived in Florida), and the probability of them meeting again was several billion to one. But he wasn't about to say that to the hopeful-looking teary eyes staring at him.

"Promise?" he sniffled. Well, crap. Now what was he supposed to do?

` "I'm not sure if I should promise," he said, trying to pick his words carefully so as not to upset the extremely delicate frame of mind Feliciano was in. "Especially because broken promises can be very serious, and-"

"Good! It's a promise," the enthusiastic boy cut in eagerly, giving the German a last, lingering hug. He looked at his watch for a few seconds, impatiently. "Hey, Germany, what does this clock say when the big hand is here and the little hand is here?"

Dazed, the tall blonde told him, and he shrieked loud enough to break the sound barrier. "I'M GOING TO BE LATE FOR MY UNCLE WHO PROBABLY ISN'T MY UNCLE PROBABLY! UNLESS HE IS!"

"Wait, what?" Ludwig spluttered, but Italy gave him yet another hug, this time leaning in for an affectionate kiss on the cheek. As he blushed a tomato-red, Feliciano squeezed his hands and ran off, turning around to wave at him one last time.

"I'll see you again! We promised!" he shouted joyously, before tucking the cap further over his head and turning around, beginning at a walk and picking up speed until the camp he had begun to love flew past in a swirl of color. He let a laugh escape, already thinking about the incredible adventure he was about to embark on with his maybe-brother, and he couldn't help smiling hugely. Life was about to get a lot more exciting!

As he sprinted, the young German man watched him with a red face and fingertips placed lightly on his cheek. He sighed, a small, forlorn sound, then climbed into his car, positive he would never see that radiant smile again.

--

Feliciano sat eagerly on the wooden steps stretching from the doorway of his cabin. He drummed out an idle beat with his fingers against the splintery wood, his other hand wrapped tightly around the handle of his suitcase. He stared unblinkingly around the camp, searching out a new red pickup truck that a Matthew Williams was supposed to be driving. When he saw it at the very end of the line of cars, he smiled in a delighted way, hefting up his suitcase and setting off. It took a little while to get to the end of the line, but slowly a blonde came into his sight. He was pretty frail-looking, with massive blue eyes covered with a thin pair of glasses. He was worrying at his lip with his teeth and pulling anxiously on his oversized red sweatshirt as he looked around the camp for his nephew. There was only one person he could be…

"UNCLE CANADA!!!" shrieked Feliciano, leaping forward as the poor blonde started violently and wrapping him in a massive hug.

"L-L-Lovino?" he squeaked. Instantly, Feliciano realized that he was supposed to be Lovino right now. And Lovino didn't normally glomp people while shrieking excitedly. He had gotten a little too enthusiastic about meeting his uncle and forgotten. Whoops.

"Yeah, yeah, it's me," Feliciano tried again, pulling off and scowling. He willed an embarrassed flush to come to his face and, when it didn't work, thought of Ludwig's rare little smile. That was enough to stain his cheeks a little. "Sorry. I just…kinda missed you. Is all. Don't think anything of it," he said sourly.

"I won't," Matthew said with a little smile. Apparently, this had been the right thing to say, and Italy felt like cheering and pumping his fist up in the air. Of course, that would only end up messing it up again, so he said nothing and just continued to frown half-heartedly. "So how was camp? Did you make any new friends?"

"I-I don't ever make friends. You know that."

"…Right," Canada said, his forehead crinkling slightly in sad empathy. Feliciano bit his lip, mistaking the face for one of confusion and thinking maybe he had overdone it a little. Oh well. There was nothing he could do about it at this point. Just try to make sure it doesn't get worse, he guessed.

"Do you want to go?" He said a little gruffly, trying his best to do the impression as good as he'd done it with Lovi. He would use his love for his probably-brother to act with all his ability! 'I'll do my best for you, Lovi!' he thought with a determined nod.

"A-alright," he said, seeming relieved that Romano was acting more normal than he'd been before. He risked another smile and held open the door for Feliciano, who clambered in sulkily and slouched over in the almost immaculate leather cushion of the seat. As Matthew scrambled around the other side, Feliciano took this opportunity to look out the back window of the truck and blow a kiss to the camp behind him. He giggled, but the sound was instantly cut off when the door opened on the other side and Canada slid in. He smiled sweetly at the brunette boy, and Italy felt a stab of pride that his now-uncle didn't seem to realize the switch. "Are you ready?"

"Yep," he drawled, a slow smirk coming over his face in a Lovino-like way. "Let's go."

--

"Here we are," Canada said, pulling expertly into the parking spot and shutting off the ignition. "Home again." Feliciano tried not to act surprised at the perfect parking job; Romano had told him that, while America was an awful driver who frequently ran things over (Street signs, other cars, pedestrians, cops), Canada was a slow and precise one. He opened the door and got his first glimpse of the city.

New York was a bustling place, full of smoggy air and the screeched profanities of drivers. He saw endless billboards, gum-covered sidewalks, misspelled graffiti on all the buildings, darting taxis that looked like they were going to get the drivers and passengers killed, and an old toothless hobo playing bongos near the entrance to a subway. There was a greasy pizza shop advertising 'The beste pizza in New Yorrk!', a woman with tons of make-up and too much leather to be strictly legal, a suspicious-looking man holding a whole pack of cigarettes who was trying to pick another clueless man's pocket, and a man with a guitar, a cowboy hat, matching boots, and a Speedo. And nothing else.

Feliciano 'Italy' Kirkland had never seen a more beautiful place in his life.

"Are you coming?" Matthew asked, laying a slightly concerned hand on his nephew's shoulder. Feliciano started out of his reverie.

"Yeah, sure. It's just good to be home." The older man just smiled in response, turning from his car parked in the empty lot after being sure that it was locked and alarmed properly. He walked a little ways, with Italy trailing closely behind, until he got to an apartment building. To his surprise, Canada pulled himself onto the fire escape, then lifted out a hand to pull Feliciano up after him. The two continued up the grimy red stairs until reaching a window about halfway up the building. Canada gently lifted it up and slid in, and Italy followed excitedly while keeping on his irritable façade. Canada led him to a rather beaten door, and knocked on it. A cheerful voice boomed within.

"FEE, FI, FO, FUM. I SMELL THE BLOOD OF AN ITALIAN AND A CANADIAN."

"Alfred," Matthew replied with an impatient roll of his eyes. "Open the door."

"Alright, alright," the voice grumbled. "Freakin killjoy." There was the fumbling sound of clumsy fingers sliding a deadbolt, and the door was thrown open, only to smack Matthew squarely in the face and send him sprawling to the ground.

"Lovi! How was camp? Did you have a good ride Matthe—OH MY GOD!"

"You…" Matthew growled, sitting up and clutching at his profusely-bleeding nose. "YOU MIGHT HAVE BROKEN MY NOSE!"

"I didn't do anything!" Alfred said frantically, kneeling next to his brother. "You must have jumped in front of the door or something!"

"Like fun I did," he spluttered. Feliciano just stood there in stupefied silence until his phone rang.

"Oh! I have a text!" he said cheerfully, turning to his phone and ignoring the spectacle in front of him. He clicked a few buttons, trying to figure out how to open the message (this WAS Romano's phone), until he finally succeeded.

From: Feliciano Kirkland

Time: XX:XX

Subject: PEUHJIOPEFIOJRVWEFJLPJ!!!!!!!!!

YOUR FATHER'S NEW BOYFRIEND JUST GROPED MY ASS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

Reply?

Feliciano blinked at it for a few moments, before shaking his head. His dad didn't have a boyfriend. Silly Lovi must have been confused! He smiled and flipped the phone shut, tucking it in his pocket and scowling again. As he watched the blondes panicking, he vaguely wondered what he was supposed to do. He didn't really know what to do in a crisis like this.

As this ruckus was going on somebody must have heard it, because the door across the hall—the new tenant's door—opened and someone popped out. Feliciano's 'welcome-to-the-apartment' died on his lips and he didn't even hear the voice from within ask "Something wrong, West?"

In fact, all he could do was let one word slips from his lips.

"L-Ludwig?"

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