Run (A Hetalia FanFiction)

Chapter 12- Food Glorious Food

Another filler chapter, sorry. Thank you all for voting! 

England: Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya... *grumbling*

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America’s POV

I tried to tell him to stay in his hotel room and rest, but being the stubborn old man he was, Arthur tagged along. I had stuffed the universal key in my pocket, which could open any lock made in America, and headed onto the highway.

“Alfred, you are driving much too fast. Let me take over.” Arthur moodily mumbled, attempting to take the wheel from me.

“No dude. You are wounded so just sleep, kay?” I retorted, swatting his hand away.

Suddenly, England shoved me forcefully and my head hit the wheel, I, almost losing control of the car. I am surprised at first - considering how weak he seemed - the amount of strength he had.

“What the fruk dude?” (See what I did there) I curse, shooting him a steely glare. Arthur tries to pry my hands off the steering wheel yet again, as I retaliate.

“Are you tryin’ to cause an accident?” I yell, making it absolutely clear that I was dead serious, and dead angry. Arthur tilted his head to the side sadistically, chuckling manically. His hair fell in front of his eyes, and he grinned like a Cheshire cat, showing all of his teeth.

“Maybe I am,” he giggled, holding a hand to his mouth. I took an exit to a service station. I needed a hamburger, desperately. ‘And Arthur is acting super creepy.’ Stepping out of the car, England grunts, attempting to remove his seatbelt. In a space of ten minutes, he had gone from super crazy and strong, to weak and moody again. Something wasn’t right, I could sense it. I gently clicked the fastener button, and the belt slipped off his torso. Arthur just groaned and made his way out of the door, bum-shuffling. I grinned; he used to take care of me when I was a kid, and now I was doing so for him.

When we got into the restaurant, it seemed that England had only just realised we were in my favourite place on Earth, and in his worst place.

“Grr… You git.” He fumed, his ears puffing smoke and red face boiling with rage.

I just chuckled and made my way to the ordering area. I glanced at the options I had seen at least a few hundred times. The Big Mac of course, was my all -time favourite. The mouth-watering steak, topped with melted cheese, soft and salty in its own way, accompanied with a large sweet onion, complimenting the crunchy green lettuce that lies sprawled on the sea of ketchup.  Lastly, the most delicate bun, ever so seedy and light, carries the ingredients within its bare hands. Perfect, pure heaven- accompanied with a bed of salt and pepper fries! The true taste of America…

“That’s our Big Mac offer!” the lady at the counter unenthusiastically murmured, and I realised that I had muttered my description out loud. Arthur just grumbled something under his breath. Probably git or idiot.

“Fifteen of those- eh I’m on a diet- make it ten, and a large coffee for my friend over here,” I finished, whilst the lady wrote down my order on a sticky note. Pausing halfway, she looked at me with wide eyes. Ignoring her look of astonishment, I just sat down on a table opposite Iggy.

“Hey, how’s my favourite Iggy dude?” I ask the nation, who sits upright on his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

“Shut up.” He orders coldly. I make an overly dramatic “sad” face and he just narrows his eyes.

“Is your wound healing?”

“Not really.”

“That’s worrying, countries heal fast Ig.”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT YOU WANKER!” he hisses, his caterpillars sloping downward.

“Alfred Jones?” the lady at the counter calls out, interrupting our argument, with my order on two trays.

I stand up and collect the food. O, food, glorious food. The lady glares at me icily, what’s her problem? I hand over the coffee and fries to Arthur. When his back turned, I tried to sneak a Big Mac into his tray, but he was too fast. The hamburger was knocked out of my grasp and fell onto the floor. I gasped and held a hand to my heart. My face tensed, a frown etched into my skin permanently.

“Artie… That was a perfectly good hamburger.” I stated, my tone remaining dull and irritated.

“I didn’t want one.” He replied, sipping from his coffee mug, without a care.

I just narrowed my eyes at him and sat down to finish off the rest of my meaty delicacies. The woman at the counter eyed my mess and started to sweep up the burger off the floor whilst mumbling.

“Shouldn’t have ordered that many if you ain’t going to finish them,” she grumbled.

“Hey I don’t enjoy wasting food! It was Iggy!” I yell, hamburger in my mouth and lettuce between my teeth. The woman finished her cleaning up and I looked back to England. Hopefully we could get back on the road soon and rescue the damsel in distress.