Hetalia: The Fifty Stars

Chapter 19: On Your Mark... Get Set... Go!

Indiana. The 19th state has the common misconception of riding tractors wherever she goes when really she rides a truck to work. Although she did play around with tractors in the old days, tinkering with their parts and using them to farm her fields, but that's all in the past. Today, she's more focused on getting cars fixed. Compared to Michigan and Texas, she's just as obsessive with cars as them.

Speaking of cars, not only is she a skilled mechanic, she's also a great automobile racer. Ever since the old days of Prohibition, Indiana was Illinois's getaway driver during their classic booze runs from the cops. As much as she hated bailing Illinois out of trouble, she had grew addicted to the rush and feel of the steering wheel in her trembling hands. Rarely does she get the adrenaline pumping in her blood in present times. But then one day, Illinois came to her for a favor.

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"Get out of my garage!" Indiana slid out from underneath her navy blue muscle car before throwing a combination wrench at Illinois's head.

The Windy State miraculously ducked his head in time, avoiding a fatal hit. The wrench whirled out the garage door, landing on the concrete pavement in a loud clank, startling Rusty, the orange tabby, from his nap on a stack of rubber tires.

"Hear me out, Indiana! This time I have an excuse!" Illinois pleaded.

Indiana got up from the creeper. She kicked it to the back of the garage, sliding out of her way.

"I'm currently busy, so no. I prefer you get out of my house before the Mob gets here because you can't stay out of trouble," she grumbled.

She proceeded to dig in her trusty, yellow toolbox that sat on a nearby stool.

Illinois softened his eyes. "Please, Indiana. I need your help. This is an emergency only you can solve."

As soon as Indiana found the screwdriver she was looking for, she immediately turned to Illinois with a threatening look on her face. She pointed the tip of the screwdriver like a knife toward his neck. The dark skinned man backed away with caution.

"If it involves a car, I'll help. But anything else, I refuse," she said sternly before lowering her screwdriver. "Now leave me alone. I have better things to do than to meddle in your problems," she muttered, going back to the hood of her car, paying no more attention to him.

Illinois frowned. As hurt as he was to see Indiana turn her back on him, he knew the Crossroads of America to be a reliable friend and neighbor. Indeed, he always found ways to get into trouble. Even so, who was there to help him out? Why, Indiana, that's who! So what she's known for tractors and fields of corn? To him, she'll always be the one who'll get rid of his problems. After all, that's what friends are for! To bail- I-I mean, to help each other out of course!

He leaned his arm against the side of the red muscle car Indiana was working on. "Look, I went too far with a bet, and now I'm pretty much screwed."

"That's on you," she grumbled.

"I know! Sure, I'm a shitty friend-"

"More than a shitty friend," she looked up at him, "You're a literal dick who's always fucking me over whenever I try to help you."

He held up his hands in defense. "Okay then," he sighed. "You're right. I'm a dick. As a dick, I probably deserve most of my problems I had coming to me. And once again, this sorry dick is at your mercy."

She gave off a deep sigh, turning to him with a wolf-like gaze. "Why should I help you? You barely did me any favors, so why should I help you again?"

To her amazement, the former mobster went down on his knees, holding his hands together in a merciful manner. "Because you are the most amazing person in the entire world. Your ability to pick up tractors with one hand alone already make you awesome."