Vuvuzela

A Hetalia Fanfic

Rating: T (This one, too, might have passed for K+, but I figure it's better to be safe than sorry.)

Characters: Feliciano (Italy), Lovino (Romano), Ludwig (Germany)

Pairings: Germany/Italy, hints of Spain/Romano

Warnings: World Cup references, use of human names, hints at guy/guy relationships, a kiss. Oh, and probably a few typos and language!fails.

Summary: Ludwig is preparing to face off against Argentina, and Feliciano is ready to cheer him on - he even has a vuvuzela! The problem? He doesn't quite know how to use it. Typical of Feliciano not to know how to blow air into a plastic tube…

Disclaimer: Hetalia isn't mine. It's as simple as a vuvuzela is for most people (everyone except Feliciano and me).

I should have learned by now that humor fics aren't really my forte, but I just couldn't resist the opportunity to poke fun at those plastic horns that seem to bother World Cup players and spectators, especially after I acquired one myself. And yes, there was epic fail when I tried to make the buzzing noise. But I learned! You know, eventually… But enough of my rambling! On to the fic!

"Ve, Fratello!"

"Ciò che l'inferno il lei vuole, idiota?" Lovino spat in his brother's direction, only bothering to face the other so he could deliver one of his famous piercing glares, the kind that left grown men shaking in fear. Or so he thought. In reality, it had no such effect; it even elicited chuckles from Antonio. Then again, nearly everything he did made Antonio laugh, so the idiotic Spaniard was not to be included in any of Lovino's generalizations.

"Per favore, fratello, aiutarmi!" begged Feliciano, tiny (and downright irritating, if you asked Lovino) tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill over unless Lovino gave up and did whatever stupid favor his brother wanted. Which was bound to be utterly pointless, but Lovino didn't care; he only wanted Feliciano to shut up and not cry, because it would be very loud and annoying, and Lovino was in no mood to deal with that. Although, when he thought about it, he was never in the mood to deal with his brother, happy or sad, but still…

Lovino sighed in defeat. "Fine," he conceded, hoping agreement to help would prove to be the off-switch for the waterworks. "What is it?" He hoped it wasn't something stupid, but knowing Feliciano, it probably was.

Feliciano beamed, tears vanishing immediately. "Grazie, fratello, grazie!" He then pulled out a long, yellow plastic tube that vaguely resembled a trumpet, holding it out to his brother. "Please teach me how to use this!"

Lovino blanched. "What the hell?" he cried, grabbing the horn from Feliciano's hands and brandishing it angrily. "What do you need a vuvuzela for? We lost, you moron, remember? Who could you possibly be cheering for?"

"Ve…" Feliciano wrung his now-free hands nervously. He knew his next words were sure to anger Lovino. "I…I wanted to cheer Ludwig on…He's playing Argentina today, and…" He trailed off, waiting for the inevitable explosion of anger.

He wasn't disappointed. "Why the hell would you cheer for that potato bastard, you dumbass?" Lovino shouted, wanting nothing more than to throw the damned vuvuzela at Feliciano, and then proceed to strangle him with the German flag he was sure the younger had tucked in his bag. "How dare you?" he continued, raising his hand as if preparing to slap his brother, ignoring the cries of 'Ludwig, save me!' "How dare you fly his flag and cheer for his team like one of his potato bastard citizens? What kind of Italian are you!" He finally finished his tirade, breathing hard, his face tomato red.

Feliciano whimpered, but held his ground in an unusual display of bravery. "Ve, but fratello, we lost, just like you said, so what's wrong with cheering for someone else? Weren't you cheering for Big Brother Antonio when he played Portugal the other day?"

Lovino's blushed a shade deeper. "It's not like I wanted to, dumbass! I just would never have heard the end of it if I didn't pretend, okay?" But he knew Feliciano wasn't convinced. In all honesty, Lovino himself wasn't even convinced. "But whatever. If you want to make a fool of yourself cheering for the potato bastard, it's not my problem." With that, he put the vuvuzela to his lips and blew, making a loud buzzing noise directly into Feliciano's ear before tossing it to his brother. "There's your lesson. Now leave me alone."

Mimicking his brother, Feliciano blew into the vuvuzela, not caring that the mouthpiece was still coated with Lovino's saliva. The results were less than dramatic. A whoosh of air was heard, but nothing more. Feliciano furrowed his brows in confusion. "Ve?"

"You are such a damn idiot," muttered Lovino, resisting the urge to facepalm at his brother's sheer stupidity. He just walked away as Feliciano turned blue in the face with effort.

"Ludwig, Ludwig!" Feliciano sobbed, running into the German's arms as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Ludwig was flabbergasted. "I-Italien?" he stuttered, stiffening at the feeling of Feliciano's arms around him, "What are you doing here? And why are you crying?"

Feliciano's sobs quieted to the occasional sniffle as he explained (well, sort of; Feliciano's attempts to elucidate any situation usually just served to confuse everyone further), "I-I wanted t-to cheer you on t-today, b-but I can't figure out this vu-vuvu-horn thing! I've b-been trying for an hour, but it w-won't work! Ludwig!" Feliciano buried his face in Ludwig's chest, apologizing for his uselessness, apologizing that he couldn't cheer for Ludwig the way he should.

Ludwig knew he wasn't particularly adept at comforting, but he patted Feliciano's head awkwardly and attempted the skill he knew he lacked. "It's all right, Italien," he said slowly. "The vuvuzela isn't important; you don't need one to cheer. You just need…your voice, I suppose. And spirit. That's how everyone used to cheer before, ja?"

Feliciano looked up at the now-blushing Ludwig and smiled, eyes brightening and smile widening in delight. "You mean it? I can cheer for Ludwig's team anyway?"

Ludwig nodded, just in time for a small device to vibrate in his pocket - his pager. "I have to go, Italien. The game is about to begin. Will you take a seat in the stands and watch?"

Feliciano bobbed his head profusely, which Ludwig took as an affirmation. "Yes!" he cried, pulling Ludwig closer to capture his lips in a quick kiss. "I want to see you win, Ludwig!"

Ludwig blushed scarlet, but smiled. "I will definitely win, Italien," he replied with confidence. "My team is well-prepared; Argentina does not stand a chance."

He would not let Feliciano down.

Okay, translations (though they're probably unnecessary):

Fratello – Italian – Brother

Ciò che l'inferno il lei vuole, idiota? – Italian – What the hell do you want, idiot?

Per favore, fratello, aiutarmi! – Italian – Please, brother, help me!

Grazie, fratello, grazie! – Italian – Thank you, brother, thank you!

Italien – German – Italy

Ja – German – Yes

I might write another chapter - tell me what you think! No flames, though, please! Thank you!