Chapter 3

Sweden clings desperately to the seat of his cart, wearing his expression of utmost terror (often mistaken for his "I'm going to kill you, fuckface" grimace). Next to him, whooping delightedly, is his sixteen-year-old son, America, clutching the donkeys reigns with his BRAND NEW cart-driving permit displayed proudly.

"Dad, check this out! I think I can make 'er go FASTER," After a moment of terrified silence he adds. "THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID! ... Get it Dad?! If someone were ha-"

"Yes! Now ge' yer eyes on t'e roa'!" Sweden shouts, clutching at the side of the cart so he wouldn't launch over the front to his death. He turns his head slightly to look at America briefly who was grinning like an idiot.

"But that's boring!"

Swedens life briefly flashes before his eyes, and he spends some fond time reliving the moment when a delighted Finland accepted his marriage proposal.

"STOP TH' CART," He bellows. A shocked America yanks on the reigns and the donkey skids to a stop. "Thank you." He growls.

"Come on Dad. That was fun and you know it," America says and steps off, Sweden lets go of his death grip and jumps down. "So where are we gonna put the-"

"Yeh sta' by th' cart," Sweden says and frowns when he sees a pair of eyes roll. "I me'n it t'is time." He snaps sternly hoping he will get through to him for once.

"Yeah I got… stay by the cart. Because no one wants to be around the freak of nature you have for a son." He whines with a sigh, trying to guilt Sweden into letting him come along. He puts on the kicked puppy look that he learned from Hanatamango over the years.

"Yeh know tha' isn' tr'e," Sweden replies, a bit softer now. "Yer no' a frea' jus' dunno yer own stren'th issall…"

"Yeah, yeah," He says and shakes his head, frowning. "It's not that I don't know my own strength," the blonde corrects, his eyes brooding. "Everyone knows my strength. I just know it too well." Sweden steps forward and ruffles his son's unruly blonde hair, placing a somewhat awkward kiss to the top of his head.
"Y'll gr'w 'nto it," is all he says. "Y'r m'th'r an' I l've you 'nyway, you know."
"I know, Dad," America says, a small, fragile smile flickering across his face. "Go buy your donkey shit or whatever. I'll wait here."
"W'tch y'r l'nguage," he teases, giving his son a final wave and loping off.

"A minute or two wouldn't hurt right?" He asks looking over his shoulder to the now traumatized Hanatamango who only stands up carefully as if the cart can start up at breakneck speeds again. America takes a moment to stare at the dog like he expects a reply, he looks over at the few people his age either working or socializing like he should be and leans back, sighing.

"HEY AMERICA," He looks up and mentally groans, not wanting to deal with the people who were grinning at him. "WHO'S THE DOG, YOU OR HANATAMANGO?" He tries not to cringe but only looks up putting on his best prideful grin.

"Very funny Turkey!" He says and begins to laugh along with the group. America silently wishes he never asked to come along so he could drive the cart, just to avoid the awkward confrontations with one of the few people who actually like to make their unhappiness of America's existence known frequently. "How long did it take you to think of that one?"

"Not as long as it took to realize how ugly you're face is!" A few chuckles come from the group and Turkey's already large smirk grows, which leads America to wonder how large it can get before expanding off of his face. "Hey! I'm talking to you! Pay attention!"

"Huh…?"

"What're you stupider than I thought?" He asks and watches as America's once cool temper begins to rise to temperatures such as that of the sun. Before he can even realize what he was doing a rock is picked up and thrown while the phrase 'Oh shit' is repeated over and over again in America's head.

Turkey watches it whizz by his head and slam into a rather large and most likely expensive jar, which instantly shattered into millions of pieces. "You're dead, freak, you know that?" He snaps, turning redder and redder.

"…'xc'se me?" A dangerously quiet voice asks. The boys turned around to find Sweden glowering at them, actually wearing his "I'm going to kill you, fuckface" grimace this time. "Wh't did ya jus' say 'bou' m' son?

"N-nothing, sir," Turkey stammers, backing up slightly. America notes that none of them are laughing anymore, but this didn't make him feel any prouder.

"Dad, I got it," he mumbles, looking at his feet and turning red.

"B't son…"

"I got it, Dad," America says louder. He looks close to tears.

"Let's just go guys," says Turkey sourly. "Lucky your dad was here to save you this time, freak!" He turns and strolls off cockily with his gang, leaving the father and son pair behind.

"Why did you do that, Dad?" the boy asks sadly, not meeting his eyes. "They were just playing around."

"B't…'merica…"

"They already think I'm enough of a freak without you helping!" he snaps suddenly, his lower lip quivering. "You don't need to defend me, dad! I don't need any help being a loser. I can do it on my own." Sweden reaches out a hand for his son, but he brushes it away. He ignores Hanatamago, who laps comfortingly at his hand. "Let's just go home," he mutters, turning back towards the cart.

---

"Wasn't that so sad?!" Sealand shouts blowing his nose obnoxiously loud and tosses the tissue to the side where it lands next to a depressed Canada who tries to inch away from it not knowing if there was actually mucus in the middle of it.

You silently wonder what happens next but don't want to interrupt for fear you'll get snapped at like you did when you were in first grade and couldn't hold your question until the end. Switzerland looks up at you and notices the uncomfortable silence.

"You guys remember that guy who trained America… can we just skip that part of the story?"

"NO!" Spain shouts seeming to melt on the spot. "He was so cu-"

"Annoying!" Sealand interjects.

"How could you say that about such a dreamboat!?" Spain asks looking more hurt than he was shocked. You don't doubt that a conversation like this happens often.

"Dream boat? You only say that cause…" Sealand trails off looking scandalized then finishes in a lower tone. "You played… tonsil hockey." You blink in surprise but try not to upset Spain who only drifts off into his own little world completely smitten.

"Oh…. Romano. He was just…" Spain trails off with a sigh.

"Can I tell it now?!" Sealand shouts after a moment of the most uncomfortable silence you've sat through.

"No." Switzerland, Russia and the still ignored Canada say in unison.

"I'll tell it," says Canada as the others continue to bicker. You smile at him as his eyes shine with empathy, both for you listening to them and for America. "That evening found America overlooking the sea, with a downtrodden spirit and tears on his face..."

A/N: OH NO, CORK. WE PUT SPOLIERS THAR D=

NOOOOESSSS!!! WAI WAI!?

...Because maybe then they readers won't kill us?

Oh yeah cause we are so epically LATE on this chapter?

...TAKE CORK AS A HUMAN SACRIFICE -flees-

HOW COULD YOU!? *runs after Spazz and drags her back* Let's apologize CORRECTLY for this!

NEVER! EAT HER, NOT ME! EAT HER, NOT MEEEEE!!

JUST HELP ME SAY SORRY!

...YOU DO IT -sulks-

So... here are the reasons. School, it sucks our time down to nothing. Then there was that whole NaNo WriMo thing that I epcially failed at BTW and... One Acts... let's not go there. So we're really sorry we kind of didn't update sooner we're kind of... GIANT SLACKERS SOMETIMES *sulks next to Spazz*

There's your apology, dearest readers. And if you still love us or forgive us, you'll review. Don't leave Al crying like that! D=