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

Warning/s: Sex ed, mental abuse of a child - all those fun things. 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.

Walking into a Nightmare

What are they doing? How can they make that much noise? Why does it sound like Papa Berwald's hurt? And why does Papa Tino swear almost as bad as that jerk, Arthur?

Peter used to ask himself these questions all the time when he'd been tucked snuggly into bed, under thick blankets and unable to sleep (Raivis was always telling him that eating chocolate biscuits from his secret stash before bed wasn't the best idea).

It'd be quiet, and his mind would be flying about as he imagined what pranks he'd pull on his annoying older brother, and he fantasised about being allowed to eat one of those giant jaw breakers Alfred had given him the last time he'd visited, or how he'd be treated by fellow nations when he was finally recognised as one. He'd be happy, without a worry in the world, a huge grin on his face as he started drooling on his pillow and giggling.

Then the noise would start. It'd be hardly recognisable at first (though Peter's heard them enough now to know the difference between them and the wind tugging on the branches outside his window). First would be the murmurs. Then maybe a laugh or giggle. Then the bed's squawking would start and things would go kind of quiet (kind of, because Peter wasn't sure if he was hearing something out of the ordinary or not).

Sometimes his gut would twist with worry as one of Tino's keening whines crept through the house, slipping through the wall and into his ears like those eerie ghosts Arthur had told him about (not that he'd been scared of that idiot's story; he was the mighty Sealand! He wasn't scared of anything!). Sometimes those whines would be growls, or murmurs, or shouts - "There, Berwald? Right there?" - mostly from Papa Tino, but he'd heard Papa Berwald a few times as well...

Peter's blue and white flannel pajamas would twist around him as he tossed and turned and frowned. Images of his beloved 'mama' (not that he'd call him that to his face; he'd done that once and had been subjected to the most unusual and criminally torturous chores of his short life) in pain and unable to call for help would immediately burn themselves into his eyeballs. But with how Papa Tino had called 'yes' on plenty occasions, he wondered if Papa Berwald was giving him a massage. Like the ones he'd seen Ivan do to Yao when they thought they were alone, after a meeting. He always made a lot of the same sounds his parents did then, granted, Yao was usually saying something along the lines of, "No, I just heard something! Ivan, not here, aru. Wait until we get back to the hotel... Ivan!"

He'd gone and knocked a few times. The shuffling and urgent whispers he heard through the thick, wooden door only made his generous eyebrows furrow more. He'd feel an indignant and disbelieving liquid pool in his stomach as Tino called out, said they were fine and to go back to bed ("Peter, please try to get some sleep. We have to leave early tomorrow.").

The boy would do as he was told. But he'd always mumble to himself as he trudged down the hallway, past the bathroom and into his room. He wasn't that young. He'd help keep an eye on Germany during the war! So he wanted to know when either of his parents were hurt and if he could help in anyway.

Really, no one should have been surprised when he asked about it. Especially since Papa Berwald would blush all the way down to his toes, give him a plate stacked with food and order him into the living room to watch TV and Papa Tino would smile oddly, flush happily and tell him to not worry about it, forget it happened and that he'd explain when he was older. What did they think he was? A kid?

So it was with the determination he'd put towards becoming a nation that he'd sought someone else out who would explain it to him.

Raivis had immediately flushed, the shaking (that Peter had only really managed to get him to stop whilst around him a few months prior) starting up again as he stuttered, "W-W-What!?"

Peter had looked up from his toys (two large Transformer dolls; one of Bumblebee and one of Optimus Prime - his favourites), turning his big, blue eyes on the teen, "What are your parents doing when they moan and shout and make a lot of noise in bed at night?"

"P-P-Peter, you're t-t-too y-y-y-young to kn-know about-t th-that!"

"About what?"

Raivis had stared at him with wide eyes, his mouth opening and closing periodically, as though he was one of Peter's mechanical toys. He'd been completing a jigsaw by Peter's bed, but that was now scattered across the floor and his lap (Raivis was still way too jumpy to be normal - especially over a simple question).

"Raivis?"

"P-P-Peter you sh-should a-ask your p-parents!" He looked like he was about to cry.

"I did. But Papa Tino just smiles and Papa Berwald goes this funny red colour... They won't tell me anything!" He stared over at Raivis, letting his toys fall to the floor as he crawled to his friend's side. He then made sure to make his eyes super-big (like he does whenever he asked their elderly neighbour for sweets) and pouted slightly, "Are they hurting each other? Do they have mutant monkeys living in their closet? Why won't anyone tell me anything?" He wasn't sure if this was going to work on Raivis, since he was just a bit older than himself, but he doubted asking and asking and asking was going to wear the older boy down this time (and he couldn't just drag it out of him, like he'd dragged him into some of his plans).

He heard Raivis swallow, "I-I'll sh-sh-show you t-t-t-tomorrow."

Peter couldn't contain himself; he'd hugged Raivis for all he was worth. And he'd whooped about being victorious and had been smug at dinner that night (Papa Tino had asked if anything special had happened, but he'd just smiled broadly and dug into his dessert) and gone to bed early so the next day would come quicker.

Raivis was 'babysitting' (he hated that word. The Great Principality of Sealand wasn't a baby!) him that day as his parents went to one of the Nordic conferences. He brought a bag with him that was filled with snacks and biscuits and right at the very bottom held a DVD. Peter wasn't sure why Raivis wanted to keep it a secret from his parents but he'd only smirked impishly when Raivis asked him to.

Peter hadn't been able to wait to watch the movie once Raivis explained that it would tell him all he needed to know. So he'd been sure to push Raivis into the kitchen to unpack the snacks, and practically hit the roof when Raivis had told him that he could start without him.

He'd sat up straight, attention only directed at the television's screen as the opening sequence rolled through and finally he was greeted with a picture of a family smiling at him from the screen. Peter quickly started the movie, hardly paying any attention as the image of the family dissolved into an image of an embryo.

"Have you ever wondered where you come from?" The narrator began, "Have you ever wondered how babies are made?"

Peter frowned. Well, he had, but that wasn't what he was worried about right then...

"In the next hour we will explain and show you how reproduction works and give you some insight into puberty..."

Peter watched with avid interest - even if he didn't know what the man was going on about. He'd watched as a cartoon boy and cartoon girl were placed on the screen, grinning and waving at him. He'd watched as they were stripped bare and the narrator explained what made them different (Peter had flushed at the sight of the girl nude - because that was something he knew he wasn't supposed to be seeing - though his eyes hadn't left the screen).

Peter's mental fortitude was kicked into dust as the movie progressed.

He watched with fascination as the boy's body grew and got hairy, and continued to blush as the girl's flat chest and narrow hips grew until she was an attractive hourglass shape. Somewhere amongst the fuzzy talk, he learnt what a penis and a vagina were, how they fit together and what they were used for. He then watched with horror as a woman give birth, screaming and crying and - why wasn't she doing that more? She was being stretched from the inside out, right?!

Afterwards, whilst the credits were rolling and some cheesy 'doo-doo-doo' music seemed to echo around the room Raivis sat beside him.

"I-I-It's s-slightly d-d-d-differ-r-rent for your p-parents..." He said with a bright blush and a look of understanding.

"Why do you have that - that?" Peter pointed to the TV.

"Er, um, ah... Ed-Eduard and T-T-Toris used one l-l-like it to ex-explain it t-t-to m-me and I-I-I th-th-thought it w-w-would be b-b-better for you t-to h-h-hear it f-f-from s-someone t-that c-c-could ex-explain it bet-t-ter than m-me."

Peter couldn't help himself, "But you said that Papa Berwald and Papa Tino do it differently to that?"

It was a long day as Raivis struggled to answer Peter's questions. Until they both called it quits as Raivis found himself mentioning how he'd once walked in on Toris and Feliks and how there was definitely more than one way to do things. They awkwardly sat and played one of Peter's video games.

Peter almost couldn't look at his parents when they arrived home. He couldn't stop fidgeting when they sat down for dinner. It sort of made sense now... Why sometimes Berwald would limp or Tino would have trouble sitting. He ate silently, sending small gazes at each of his parents, one at a time, whilst they stared quizzically back. He excused himself as soon as he was able to.

He couldn't sleep when he went to bed that night. He wasn't really worried about sex or reproduction or anything like that - though he wondered idly if it was as good as the narrator had briefly mentioned - rather, he found himself waiting for the noise. Or, dreading the noise. Because this time he'd know what they were doing and he really didn't want to think about that. But he was, wasn't he? By trying to make himself not think about it?

He heard his parents creep up the stairs, the third and fourth last step creaking before they were heading towards their bedroom door. They were talking to each other softly. He heard his name mentioned and rolled onto his back, ears peeled whilst trying to turn them off. A few moments passed and all Peter could hear was the slide of clothes. Usually he'd have taken it as them changing into their night clothes, but that night he found himself wondering if they would start.

A moan kicked Peter in the head, just before Peter heard the bed wail and Papa Tino laugh. Immediately his insides froze up. He was literally sweating prickly shards of ice. The image of his Papa with his other Papa's penis in his bum immediately summoned itself inside his head, taping itself to the backs of his eyelids... Ugh, he didn't want the mental imagery!!

Peter rolled over and squashed his face against the bed, quickly covering his head with his pillow and pressing the ends against his burning ears. He let out his own groan - though his was of suffering - and flushed down to the soles of his feet.

Peter used to wonder what his parents did at night. Now he wished he didn't know.

Woffy: XD I enjoyed writing this far too much. Far too much. Why do I enjoy traumatising characters? Especially young ones?

Anyway, Kink Meme fill.