CHAPTER SIX?! Woah. Woah man. Just...woah. O_o

Since I heard so many positive things about Cuba's POV, I decided to do this next chapter in LOVINO'S POV. Yet another cynical character, yay! Unfortunately, next chapter will have no cynical-ness... But that's okay! I'll still make it funny, I promise! X3 (Or... as funny as I can... ._.)

CELEBRATING 1,500 VIEWS, BUDDY! XD THAT'S CRAZY, MAN. CRAZY. AND NOT ONLY THAT! Did you guys know that there are 117 pages of crossover stories in the Hetalia fanbase? This story is on PAGE SIXTEEN. ONE. SIX. Thirty-four reviews passes one HUNDRED pages of stories, dude! That's CRAZY. CRAAAAZY. I am FREAKING OUT right now. (Ah! I'm sorry if I'm scaring you or something… I just really like celebrating! 1,500 views and more than halfway across the Hetalia crossover section? Hey! I say bring out the pasta, buddy! XD)

-O-O-O-

Chapter 6: A Flying Mint Bunny? KER-PASTAAA!

"I'll have a Pirate Patty, no pickles, and a side of fries."

So... This was it, Lovino thought. This was the fancy life of a manager. An apparent once-in-a-lifetime opportunity with a big ceremony (which took weeks to plan, by the way) and a permanent one dollar raise...to do the job of sitting at a grimy register with a cheap 'manager' pin on your shirt...

Yeah. There was...absolutely no change from before...

Why did Lovino still have to work the register even after becoming the manager? Don't manager's, you know, NOT work the register? He specifically applied for this job in order to GET OUT of working...well, at all.

And yet, here he was, amongst the early morning rush of the new Bloody Pirate. Well, 'rush'. There weren't even twenty people in the store, probably. How many people were in here now? One, two, three... Ah, forget it. He didn't care anyway. There weren't a lot of people there, at least. Who the hell ate burgers at seven a.m.?

Never mind. Don't answer that.

The Italian irritably jotted down the order though. He crumpled it up, tossed it into the window behind him, and sighed in exasperation. "It'll be ready...whenever."

Then a dinging racket came from the speakers overhead. Oh great. THIS.

"Wh—What's going on?" The customer jumped away and spun around worriedly. The few other customers in the room turned to see what was going on too. Lovino rolled his auburn eyes to the ceiling.

"Hooray..." he said in a monotone, "You are our tenth customer at this new restaurant..." At least this seemed to answer the Italian's question of how many people there were in the room. Yippee.

"Oh boy!" The man in front of him immediately brightened up, suddenly standing straighter in his spot and holding his arms just a bit closer to his sides. "What do I win?"

"Congratulations, you win..." Just as Lovino was trying to figure out something-really, they hadn't planned for anything to happen but whatever-Arthur walked in the room. Huh. That'd work. "A... A free glance at our boss...?"

The boss, of course, held a confused expression for a moment, then glanced at the customer.

"Oh, yeah! That's so cool! I've always wanted to see the boss here!"

Arthur grinned and crossed his arms pridefully, but the Italian merely rubbed his temples. "You don't come here often, do you?" he asked to the man.

The customer frowned. "This... This is my first time, why?"

"Well, just because it's called the 'Bloody' Pirate doesn't mean you have to cover yourself in blood..."

The man looked down at himself. He wore a scarlet outfit with an ebony tie and darkly coloured boots. He was nicely dressed, with a becoming air to his fashion, but… Even with the red of the wardrobe, a crimson liquid was easily noticeable as it dripped down the customer's clothes.

The person looked to the cashier. "But... But I'm a vampire!"

"Sure you are." Lovino snatched up a burger and threw a bag into the man's hands. "Just... Get out."

The vampire customer person sadly looked down to his bag, then nodded. Without another word, he took the object and slumped out.

These customers coming to the Bloody Pirate kept getting weirder and weirder. Soon this place would be a cult gathering...

The Italian suddenly jumped when a hand was placed on his shoulder though. "I appreciate you becoming the manager, Lovino," Arthur remarked from behind him, a stiff tone in his voice. Then again, the Brit's voice was always firm and proper, in a way. Unless he was annoyed. Then he was…just annoying. "Good work."

Lovino stifled a growl. He didn't particularly like it when people touched him; especially not the English and American people he worked with... And sometimes, just sometimes, the voices in his head had some pretty good ideas on what to do about it...

"You know that I'm only doing this for the money, right?" the employee grumbled, while shuffling away from his boss. "As soon as a better offer comes, I'll leave this place in, literally, two seconds. All my stuff is in a bag here just so I can get away as fast as I can when the day's over."

"And I appreciate it."

Lovino mumbled curses under his breath as his boss went back to the kitchen. Since Alfred was late, that Arthur guy had to make the burgers. So... Maybe working the register while being the manager wasn't so bad.

Wait... Why didn't Lovino work the kitchen while Kirkland worked the register? Lovino actually knew how to cook...

Just as he was pondering this though, another customer walked in. Well, two, actually. Two that actually looked very similar, come to think of it, despite being different genders. Blond hair draped onto their cheeks and green uniforms were pressed to their bodies. They held themselves highly, obviously, as the female held her hands together and stood like an object in her place, while the male sent pointed gazes to anybody who glanced over. This male even had a rifle slung over his back. Oh joy. Another one of THESE characters. Lovino was positively beaming.

"Welcome to the Bloody Pirate," he murmured, slumping onto the counter in front of him. "What kind of terror in a burnt bun can I get you?"

Hm. These people actually look familiar. A cute girl and a menacing boy in matching outfits. Where did Lovino recognize these people?

"I want to see your manager," the man with the rifle grunted.

"He's..." Then a lightbulb clicked somewhere. "I guess that's me. I think."

"You're Arthur Kirkland?"

"No." Lovino looked to the kitchen door, as if the boss would come rushing out at the mere mention of his name. He didn't, of course, though of the cocky bastard knew they were talking about him, he'd probably assume it to be the best anyway. "He's my boss."

The stranger didn't appear to be amused at this. He crossed his arms as the girl glanced worriedly from one person to the other. "Isn't the manager and the boss the same thing?"

"No." The cashier raised an eyebrow. "That's not how it works, bastard..."

"Whatever!" The man threw his hands in the air and reached behind him. "Get me Arthur Kirkland or I'll shoot!" Flipping the rifle out from his back and aiming it to the employee's face, the male completely ignored the multiple protests of the girl beside him and kept a pointed glare trained to Lovino.

Lovino couldn't help but back away slightly. "Y-You don't scare me…" Despite this, the Italian had a secure hold on a spare white flag which he hid under the register.

"Try me."

Seriously. A trigger-happy short guy with a gun. You think Lovino would've remembered the name of someone like that.

Ah, forget it.

As calmly as he could, Lovino shuffled over to the kitchen door. Some sort of murky smoke was billowing out from it, which really, really wasn't a good sign. He ducked inside anyway, covering his mouth after he smelt...air freshener?

Oh god. Arthur cooked the air freshener.

Yep. There he was, in front of a smoking oven, cooking...air freshener... The frying pan was ablaze. And no, it wasn't that INSIDE the frying pan was burning; I mean, literally, the whole frying pan—handle and all—was on fire.

Lovino should've been the fry cook...

"Kirkland, this guy wants to see you," he muttered, keeping his palm to his mouth for dear life. God fucking dammit… Why was the medicine cabinet open?

"Oh! Really?" The man in front of the flaming oven lit up. And not with the fire. "Maybe he wants to compliment my cooking in person!"

"No... No. I—I REALLY don't think that's it..." Did that fire just gurgle? The Italian swore he was going to have nightmares later that night. "He has a gun with him."

The smile on his boss's face dropped immediately, right down to a glower, as he then crossed his arms and let out a huff. "Then why didn't you kick him out?!"

"Did I mention the gun?"

Arthur sighed and poked his fried frying pan, then nodded to himself. "Oh... Fine. I'll go see what he wants."

His boss was about to pass Lovino to get to the door, but the employee held out his arm to stop him. "Shouldn't you put out this fire before it gets to the customers?"

"It will be fine. Besides," Arthur held a wide grin as he bragged out: "I can't leave this sort of thing to you! You wouldn't be able to pull off what I'm making!"

"What are you making?"

"An omelette."

No... No no no... No, that's not...

The image in front of Lovino was now compared with the fluffy goodness of an omelette. This would scar Lovino from eating omelettes and, eventually, give him hallucinations whenever he saw eggs... But we're not at that point in time yet.

Despite this, the Italian followed his boss anyway.

Although he regretted it as soon as he left the room.

As soon as the owner of the shop introduced himself, four bullets were shot. Lovino ducked behind his boss, while Arthur just stood there, stunned. The bullets had hit the walls, missing any living thing.

Everybody in the restaurant immediately stopped what they were doing and stared at the scene. Some people dropped their sandwiches. Others dropped their jaw. One guy's pants dropped instead.

After a silent moment, Lovino stood up. "What the HELL, man?!"

"Shut up!"

The employee had a white flag at his side in an instant.

The man in front of the register now stood up tall, as if he was the central figure in the room. When he looked around and saw that he had everyone else's attention, he pointed to the boss.

"Arthur Kirkland, you have stolen the royal rifle!"

Rifle? Royal? Oh, NOW it all made sense. This person was the king of Hetalia reef. Yeah. Vash or Basch or...whatever. A fitting king for an insane town. Really, they couldn't have elected a better king if they tried.

"I wouldn't do something like that, git!" the boss replied, placing his hands on his hips and scowling at the king.

"Lies!" Another shot was fired, but this time, Arthur jumped behind a table.

"Come out, you thief!" the king yelled, aiming his gun to the object the Englishman was hiding behind. "Man over or I'll beat you with my peace prize!"

"A PEACE PRIZE?!"

The patrons inside jumped at the sudden shout, and everybody turned to face behind them. A seemingly hungover Alfred was slumped against the side of the doorway, holding open the glass entrance with his head. His hair was tousled into odd curls and his chin seemed to be grossly unshaven. But what scared the patrons most were the man's bloodshot eyes… "I would KILL for one of those!"

"Ugh..." Lovino sighed and glared at his coworker. Why today? Why did today have to be I-want-to-jump-off-a-cliff Wednesday? "Alfred, don't you have to be stupid somewhere else?"

The American stumbled into the room, slightly crashing into a table and whamming face-first into a pole. "Not... Not until four…" Lovino could only roll his eyes in response.

On his trek to the other end of the room, Alfred stumbled into Arthur, then into Vash...

Then he fell onto Lilli...

And that's when the romantic music started to play.

NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP!

NEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWN—!

"Oh. Whoops!" Feliciano, who had staggered in soon after Alfred, shoved his hands into his pockets, blundering around a bit before eventually drawing out a phone. He then started to click random buttons, glancing from the surrounding people and back to his object. "Mi dispiace! That's my ringtone. Hold on..."

"What the—? Who would be calling you, fratello?! Everybody you know is in this room!"

Nevertheless, Feliciano went outside to take the call, just as Alfred stumbled up off Lilli and towards his boss.

"Alfred! Finally, you're here!" Arthur huffed. He seemed angry at the late arrival, but almost thankful at the timing. It was a weird match of emotions, but common in cases relating to people like Kirkland. "Will you and Lovino tell King Vash how preposterous it is that I would steal a gun?"

Lovino held his hands up. "I'm sorry, Kirkland. I just saw you cook. You put some pretty messed up stuff in your meals."

"I wouldn't steal a rifle to COOK!"

Something in the kitchen roared.

"Now, hush up, Leon!"

Nobody wanted to ask who... Er... WHAT 'Leon' was...

"Sure, Artie..." Alfred slurred, pointing at his adversary. "I will tell you—"

"You're pointing to a pole, bastard."

The American blinked for a moment, a confused look crossing that bleary-eyed face. "Oh..." He then spun away and pointed to a blond person. "I will tell YOU about—!"

"You're pointing at me, Alfred," his boss remarked, rolling his eyes.

Alfred spun around again, but this time he lost his balance and plunged to the floor, crashing onto his side. He groaned, but seemed to accept this fate as he sprawled lazily onto the ground and closed his eyes. "Ugh. Forget it. I'm staying here, dudes..."

At this, the king hummed. "Well then." He cocked the gun and aimed it to a certain Brit who really needed to notice that the restaurant was fogging up with the smoke he created. "It seems like you ran out testimonies, Kirkland. Time to die."

A bullet was fired, and Arthur ducked behind a chair.

"No, big brother, sto—!"

"Shut up, Lili. Mommy and Daddy are talking."

At the banging sounds that eminated from the walls, Alfred was snapped out of his groggy trace though. He jumped up and threw himself in front of Arthur, seemingly to snap out of his hangover…sort of. "Hold on, hold on!"

"Out of the way, fool!" the king growled, not moving where his gun was pointed. "I have a Briton to cook!"

"But I want to be the one to shoot him!"

The boss gave him a dirty look. "You WHAT now?"

That's when Feliciano rushed in, crashing himself into the American before waving around his arms. Even hungover, Italians can do that. "Wait!"

"I swear, I will shoot all of you!"

"But are you really going to cook him?" The Italian asked worriedly, then he beamed into a bright smile. "I have a cookbook I can share!"

Arthur scoffed. "I am RIGHT here!"

"Wait, wait, wait!" This time, Lovino butted in. He really, really didn't want to—honestly, he just wanted to sneak out the back door—but this was bugging him.

"What now?!"

"Isn't ANYONE worried about the fire in the kitchen?!" Seriously. Whatever the hell 'Leon' was, it was coughing out steam. Literally. There were coughing, wheezing noises coming from the other side of the now-blackened entrance. Any more and the door might just burn right through!

Alfred scoffed, obviously not caring so much for this. "Fire can't go through doors, you git. It's not a ghost!"

"I don't… Che cosa?!"

Vash threw his hands up and turned to the crowd behind them. "NOW can I shoot them? I don't have all day!"

"Actually—"

"Stop talking, Lili."

"Okay..."

Lovino sighed in exasperation. Maybe Vash SHOULD just shoot them all. That would make this town a lot quieter... He paused, then frowned. A thought tugged at his head that he knew he would regret saying out loud.

"Wait a second..." The king turned around with an exceedingly annoyed expression. Yup. This was a bad idea. "Why do you think Kirkland stole the rifle? Do you have any proof?"

"An unnamed source."

Lovino looked at Kirkland, who looked at Alfred, who looked to Feliciano, who was staring at Lili, who backed away slightly and nervously looked up to her brother, who was glaring at Lovino. The Italian rolled his eyes and turned to Vash.

"Okay... Who is this 'unnamed source'...?"

"This piece of paper!" The king confidently pulled out a slip of paper, and held it up for everyone to see. Lovino went a few steps closer. Sure enough, it said, simply: 'Arthur Kirkland stole your rifle.'

The Italian sighed and rolled his eyes. Why was this whole stupid town just...so STUPID? "Well. Can't argue with that logic."

"What?!" Arthur cried, hurrying over to his two employees. "Aren't you two supposed to vouch for me? I didn't steal anything!"

"The evidence is pretty rock solid," Lovino said sarcastically.

Unfortunately, Alfred didn't get the memo. "Yeah! I mean, he's got it in writing! We can't do anything about it, yo!"

Lovino slapped a hand to his face.

"Hold on..." Lilli murmured, touching her brother's shoulder and sending an empathetic glance to the others in the room. "We might be able to make a negotiation..."

"Si," Lovino added, throwing a thumb at the hungover group behind him. "The idiot duo over there might go on some stupid adventure to get your gun back. Or something."

Unfortunately, instead of taking this offer and actually listening to the employee who actually had a sane mind, Feliciano started up again. "Wait…" He walked up to where his brother was standing and latched onto his arm. Why? Nobody may ever know. Lovino snapped out of the clutch pretty quickly in response though, and shuffled away from his brother. "If Arthur stole the royal rifle, then what's in your hands right now?"

Vash held the weapon proudly to his chest. "This is the 'less royal, but still royal enough' rifle."

"How about that," Lovino growled.

Now Alfred butted in. "But, dude, even if we wanted to look for your crown, we wouldn't know where to look, so…" The American shrugged, then flopped onto a nearby chair, not really seeming to get the danger of the situation. A guy with a gun. The building was burning. And there was Alfred, just… Fine then. You do that, bastard.

"It's in the World's City."

The four exchanged a glance, then placed their gaze back on Vash. Arthur was the one to speak, this time. "How do you know?"

"Another unnamed source."

Lovino grimaced and crossed his arms. "Another piece of paper?"

"Actually, no." Vash rummaged into his pocket, and eventually brought out a gun-shaped phone. The Italian had thought those were out of style since, well, ever. Huh. Goes to show that when you're rich, you can buy all the ugly, tacky stuff you want. "This one was a text message..."

The king flashed the screen to the Bloody Pirate employees. Yup. The message from 'Unknown name, Unknown number' said, specifically: 'btw ur rifle in world city ttyl bby ;)'

"Alrighty then," Lovino started. Maybe someone, ANYONE, would listen to his words and realize how...STUPID this whole thing was. "Apparently the criminal knows your phone number. Sure. That's not weird at all."

But he was ignored. Figures. Vash turned to Alfred and Feliciano. "So. Will you two go to get my rifle or not?" he asked, crossing his arms and tapping his foot after the phone was put away.

The American hummed. "I... I dunno... It sounds... I dunno." He waved around his hand abstractly while both the king and the other employee rolled their eyes.

"Well, until you decide, I still need to give this criminal—" He sent a pointed gaze to the Brit in the room. "—a non-fatal bullet wound so he won't get away!"

The girl gasped when she saw her brother aiming the rifle again, before attempting to run over and block what was about to happen. "Wait, big brother!"

But it was too late. Vash shot Arthur...

"No! Don't do it!" Feliciano sobbed, while clutching onto his brother's arm. Again. "People die when they are killed! Nooo!"

Lovino...didn't even care anymore. He planned the funeral in his head. It would be a small funeral, just family and friends. No fireworks or anything, just—

A star slammed into the boss's head.

The people around the area stood there in shock, staring at the odd shape which rammed into the boss's head. However, nobody had the time to react appropriately before Alfred burst out laughing. "AHAHA! Arthur got a star stuck in his head! That's badass!"

"Wait... What?!" Vash immediately snapped his gaze down to his rifle, then thrusted it open. Sure enough, the bullets were large, non-fatal stars. Even the bullets fired in the walls, which nobody closely examined until now, were stars. "What the hell?!"

The king stomped over to his sister, seething. "Lilli. What is this gun."

Lilli shuffled backwards in fear and held up her hands defensively. "I... I found it! Wh—When you said you wanted to leave right away, I grabbed the first rifle I could find and..."

"Then what IS this rifle?!"

"I don't know! It's not our rifle!"

The other members in the restaurant watched the scene quietly. A few people brought out their smartphones and began filming the scene. Yeah. Lovino doubted anyone on Youtube would want to see a bunch of bickering people arguing about a missing rifle. Then again, somehow Gundam Style got popular. Humanity is... You know what? Let's not finish that sentence.

"It's not ours?" As Lili shook her head, Vash looked down at the gun. He seemed angry at first, then he clutched the weapon close, singing a small: "Freebie~"

"Hold on, hold on..." Lovino spoke again, taking his chances that he might be ignored again. Great. So this is what it feels like to be a Matthew... "If you don't know what that rifle is, then do you have any idea what those star-shaped bullets do?"

The people in the restaurant froze. Almost simultaneously, they gradually turned their faces—and phones—towards Arthur. The boss, who hadn't made a sound since he had been struck, was wobbling slightly in his spot, and seemed to be staring somewhere far away with foggy eyes.

"Um... Dude, Artie, are you okay?" Alfred approached him worriedly, then snapped his fingers in front of the Briton's face. However, nothing happened for a minute. Lovino was about to tell the American to just leave it, because with the way things like this happen in the shop, it all turns out well within a half-hour...

But when he opened his mouth and took a step towards them, he froze. He then jumped away in fear. Feliciano did the same thing, but screeched in terror while Lovino stayed quiet.

A creepily blissful expression had crossed the boss's face.

He looked happy...

The horror...

But it got worse! Because then Arthur practically sung out: "Flying Mint Bunny!" to nobody in particular.

Alfred, who was still loyally by the Brit's side, frowned and knitted his eyebrows together. "Wait... Flying what now?"

Then Arthur threw up his arms and hobbled over to another area of the room. Where there was nothing, by the way—not even a chair or table or anything. Then, he just started patting the air. Just… The freaking air in the middle of the room. Oh. AND he was laughing. Yeah. The fucking hell was this shit? "It's so good to see you again! And look, you brought everyone else! Uni! Tinkerbell! Oh, and all you others! How nice to see you all again after so long!"

At this…odd…response… Everybody took a step away from the boss. Even the people sitting in chairs took a step away. They picked up their chairs, took a step back, and sat back down. After this, they all conversed loudly amongst themselves.

"So... He's high?"

"Yup."

"Looks like it."

"So very high..."

"Flying in the sky..."

"Are we going to sing?"

"I seriously hope not..."

"I'm STILL in the wrong fanfiction!" Some of the patrons turned around to see a weird blond kid in an orange jumpsuit flailing his arms around. "Someone direct me to the 'back' button! PLEASE?"

Now they all gave their attention to Vash.

"So. Will you be getting my rifle back or not?" The king, unfazed by the odd attitude of Kirkland, pointed a threatening finger at Alfred as he spoke. In fact, Vash looked more disgusted at the unshaven, bloodshot American rather than the drugged, delusional Briton.

"Sure?"

"Fine," he growled, while slinging his freebie rifle onto his back and letting out a huff. "Bring it back in five days."

Feliciano jumped up and ran to his friend's side. Always the loyal one, he attempted to haggle for some time. Apparently. "Make it seven!"

"Six."

"Five!" he declared. "But that's my final offer!"

The second Italian slapped a hand to his face. Vash turned to Lilli, who merely shrugged at the question he never asked. Raising his eyebrows, the king now glanced back to a proud-looking Italian. "Ja. Five days."

"Successful negotiation, complete!" The idiot duo jumped up and high-fived. Then they toppled to the ground with a groan. Hangovers aren't fun.

"Ja, ja." It seemed as if the king had the same exhausted sensation that Lovino had back when...well, back when he decided to come to work today. "Alright, Lilli, we're leaving now. I don't need you to catch the stupid."

After the woman gave a short nod, the king and princess departed out the doors and to their... Er, it could have been called a carriage, but it really didn't seem very 'carriage-like'. Well, it looked as if it had been nice at one point, but... Now it seemed to be painted with duct tape. As if every problem the king encountered with the thing had been covered up with the silver strands. Wow. That guy really wouldn't waste a dime. He'd been handed down all this wealth and he decides to hire the best mechanic he knows: duct tape.

Alright. One idiotic problem gone. Now time to deal with the drunken boss. However, it seemed like Alfred already beat him to the punch.

"Don't worry, dude!" he yelled happily, throwing his fists up in a prideful sweep of his arms. The boss ignored him though, and continued to mumble about random things that... Well, nobody in the restaurant couldn't even tell anymore. "Me and the two Italian brothers—"

"No."

An immediate reaction from Lovino. Obviously surprised, the other two spun around to face him. Their facial expressions mimicked each other: a frown and pleading eyes.

"Ple—?"

"No."

"Lovi—"

"Fuck. No."

They all stared at each other. But the sane Italian refused to give in to his brother. Not this time. Not after the journey to the pasta festival in '05.

"Feliciano, I am NOT going to another one of your musical joyrides. Not with THAT guy." He thrusted his thumb over towards Alfred, who was busy mastering his derp face.

"But Lovi..." Feliciano whined, staggering over to his brother and leaning on his side. "You're really good at singing! You sing 'The Delicious Tomato Song' really well! Ve!"

"That doesn't mean anything, god damn it!"

"You're also really good at singing that pasta song too—The 'Let's Boil Hot Water' one!" After a minute, the happy Italian frowned seemed to ponder something. "Come to think of it...for some weird reason, you can sing a bunch of songs by Daisuke Namikawa! It's like you have the same voice as him or something..." He laughed and clapped his hands together. "You're as good as I am! I got his voice down to a pat!"

"Shut UP, fratello! I'm not going with you!"

"Aw..."

"It doesn't matter anyway, Feli!" Alfred yelled, patting the other's back. "You and me? We're idiot friends! It's something someone like him wouldn't understand..."

Face, meet palm. Palm, face. It's good to see you two are getting along today. Lovino sighed heavily and shook his head. "Sure. Si. Just... Just get out."

Without another word, the two knucklehead mcspazzatrons nodded to each other, each holding a confident smirk, then spun on their heels and dashed out of the restaurant. Into the elevator to the basement they flew, and then the doors slid shut.

Silence.

Well, other than Kirkland's inconceivable babbling, there was silence.

Was it over? Oh, thank fuck. It was over. Lovino let out a heavy exhale and slumped against the register, and that act alone seemed to relax the other patrons in the room.

And then—right then—was when the kitchen door broke down and a gigantic gunk monster sagged into the restaurant, the flames of air freshener hell blazing behind it.

It was the appetizer.

A rumbling roar shook the room as the people inside screamed in terror. Lovino, who was already slumped against the register, immediately reached underneath for his trusty white flag and sprung into action. Well, after a few colourful profanities and overcoming his surprise (Seriously. He shouldn't be so surprised about shit like this anymore.) and fear (Those pasta sauce cans that were jammed in its head looked strangely like eyes and it was flipping him out.).

"Back, Leon! Back!" the Italian yelled, flailing his stick and swatting anything he could of the creature. Although, the gunk that was spewing off the trash heap's body seemed to cling onto the edge of the flag whenever it hit. Strangely, it did seem to bellow out in pain for some odd reason though. It was a mixture of food. How the hell could it—?

Before the employee could finish that thought though, the monster fled back into the kitchen. Immediately, Lovino slammed the door shut and bolted it in place, panting heavily and slumping against the wall. No way in hell was he letting that thing back out. He'd barricade the outside window later. Then he'd call… Damn, who do you call when you have a food monster on the loose? Animal control?

The Italian fell to his knees and let out a sigh, now being the only person in the room. Well, other than his boss, of course, who was still laughing bizarrely in his original spot, but he didn't exactly count as a 'person' in that state. All the others in the restaurant had fled, leaving their food, their belongings, and…pants, apparently. Seriously. What's with this town and not bothering to, you know, zip up? First Feliciano, now this. Great.

Gasping heavily and running a hand through his hair, the male finally choked out: "I... I will never eat the food here. Ever."

In fact, maybe this would be a good retiring time. Twenty-three was a good age to retire, right? Sure it was. Or at least take a vacation. Or just go home.

So the Italian packed up and sauntered out the door, no regrets. He was so done with this shit for a long, long while.

Alfred and Feliciano, on the other hand, were waiting in an elevator to go to the basement floor. A dull dance tune was playing on the radio as the two idiots stared blankly in front of them. After a moment of gluing their gazes to the blandness of the indigo wallpaper, Feliciano glanced down to his watch.

"Ve! Look! It's 11:11! Make a wish!"

At once, the duo crossed their fingers and clamped their eyes shut as they mentally wished for something. When they reached their conclusion, they turned to face each other in excitement.

"What did you wish for?" the Italian questioned, practically vibrating as he bounced in his spot.

The American puffed out his chest, crossing his arms as a wide smirk spread across his face. "I wished for a lifetime supply of burgers! Then we wouldn't get hungry on our trip, right?"

A stale pause hung in the air. Feliciano blinked in confusion, tilting his head to the side. "Ve... You didn't wish to save your boss?"

"Oh." Alfred bit his lip and glanced around the elevator awkwardly. "Drat. I forgot." Then, after a discontent hum, he peered to his friend. "Did you?"

"He's not my boss."

"Then why are you coming with me?"

"Adventure time!"

"YES." He reached out for a high-five, which Feliciano actively participated in. "Dude, you just get me!"

"Hooray!"

When the elevator doors slid open, the duo dashed out into the garage without a minute to spare.

Feliciano suddenly gasped and stared at the scene in awe. "You...! You guys…? You have…!" He almost couldn't finish his sentence, he was so wonderstruck. His mouth opened and closed a few times, before he finally stuttered out: "You have a PASTA CAR?!"

Yes. There in front of him stood a car made of pasta. Thick meatball wheels were firmly planted on the ground, and seats made of creamy, sweet-smelling tomato sauces taunted the Italian. He nearly burst into sobs when he saw that the seat belts were spaghetti strands. It was so beautiful. So beautiful…

"Alfred!" The brunette rushed to his friend, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Can we ride in it? Please? Please?!"

"I don't think—"

"PLEASE?!" he begged, falling to his knees and clutching onto his friend's leg.

The American trailed his gaze towards the car, then to his friend. His face slumped into a frown though and he shrugged. "Sorry, Feli... We don't have the sauce—"

Feliciano brought out a can of tomato sauce from his pocket. When it came to pasta, he was always ready.

"We... We're also missing a meatball tire, and—"

Feliciano brought out a giant meatball. Wait. Where had he been hiding THAT?

"I… Uh…" Not exactly finding anything else to say, the American suddenly yelled out: "WE'RE GOING WITH THE PATTY WAGON!"

Alfred now pointed a finger over to another car. This one looked like a giant hamburger, and by the smell of the room, it might have actually been one. With pickle wheels and a grilled leather interior, the patty actually did look like a reasonable car. It even had a flag with the initials of the Bloody Pirate on it. That's the defining feature of a car. No, not the headlights or the windshield, but the flag.

"Ve? Why?!"

"Because you don't need a license to drive a sandwich!" Alfred declared, before sprinting to the driver's side of the car and hopping in. However, Feliciano stayed behind with a small frown crossing his face.

"You forgot the 'hero' part..." he whispered.

"Huh?"

The Italian slowly headed towards the passenger door, humming quietly. "The title of this story is 'You don't need a license to drive a hero sandwich,' and you forgot the hero part."

"I can't— It doesn't matter!"

"Besides, why wouldn't you be allowed to ride a plate of pasta without a license but you would be able to ride a sandwich?"

"Uh... Driving pasta is..." Think fast, Alfred! Riding on a burger is at stake! "It's illegal in some countries, yo!"

"What countries?"

"Um... Uh…" Feliciano stared at his friend while he stuttered and attempted to find an answer. Then the employee grinned and snapped his fingers, coming up with a reasonable lie. "AUSTRALIA."

"You called?"

"GAH!" The American and Italian fell backwards as some guy popped up beside them. Dressed in overalls and rubbing his forehead, he seemed to resemble a mechanic of some kind. He even had a bandage across his nose, which may have been a result as an incident or some kind of fashion statement. He also strangely had a koala perched atop his head of messy chestnut-coloured hair. That might violate the Bloody Pirate's health code... Nevertheless, the man grinned widely for them.

"I was just doing the repairs on your pasta car over there!" the stranger explained happily, wiping his brow while shoving his thumb over to the automobile. "You guys can ride in it now if you—"

"NO TIME!" Alfred yelled, snatching up his friend and tossing him into the passenger seat. "We need to go! NOW!"

The accelerator was slammed on right at that moment, and the patty wagon burst through the side of the wall. Not that there was a garage door right beside it, of course not. Planks of wood and shards of glass were sent flying everywhere, which luckily missed the bystanders (except for that one guy who yelled out "MY EYES!" but that's okay. One casualty isn't a bad number). The vehicle froze in the air for a second, with random captions reading 'KER-PASTAAA' behind them.

"Wait!" Feliciano exclaimed, flailing his arms in the air in a desperate attempt to pause what they were doing. "We aren't in the Pastamobile! We can't say 'KER-PASTAAA' if we aren't in the Pastamobile!"

"Well, what do you think we should use?"

A silence crossed, and the two heroes snapped into their thinking poses, which appeared to be accompanied with some free-form jazz.

"I know! KER-PLUMBER!"

"'KER-PLU—?'"

Then Mario barged out from the Bloody Pirate and jumped onto the backseat.

"Let's-a go!"

"Ve!"

Then the patty wagon zoomed away into the magical sunset, leaving the readers and the author to wonder what the heck happened.

Oh great. Now this is turning into some MAD episode...

-O-O-O-

My excuse for the ending? #NoRegrets.

… I don't even know anymore.

Disclaimers! So, what quotes did I use in this chapter today? I think I had a bit of Community, a hint of Mario, a tiny quote from YGOTAS... AND SPONGEBOB. Lots of Spongebob. Always lots of Spongebob... =w= (I think there will be more Spongebob quotes in this story than Hetalia quotes, overall... But that seems fair, I think. I only use Hetalia characters, so the Spongebob fanbase should get a bit extra, eh? ;D) I DON'T OWN ANY OF IT THOUGH! *explodes for no reason*