That '70s Fic
Rating: T+
Warnings: Language, drug and alcohol use, AmericaxEngland, OC!Mexico (his name is Fabio Gonzales).
HAI U GAIZ. GUESS WHAT. I don't own Hetalia.
...I have no idea where I got this idea from. I just thought of how America would act in the early '70s during the Vietnam War, and I've decided that he, like the majority of the United States, would not support it. I don't care what stereotypes people have about the Americans being warmongers—there wasn't a single war in the 20th century that Americans really wanted to go into.
"America, would you just listen to me? I'm worried about you, you know."
England fidgeted in his bar stool, waiting for his former colony to respond. He instead seemed to be intent on gulping down as many beers as fast as he could as other men around them chanted, "Chug! Chug! Chug!" By God, he couldn't stand these people. Granted he was usually too drunk to care much about others the moment he entered a bar, but he refused to drink tonight. That's right. Tonight was important. Tonight America had invited him over just to hang out—nothing political—for the first time in what seemed like forever. Being drunk would have ruined the whole thing. Who knew how America felt about him when he lost it? Not that he cared, of course, he just didn't want to scare him off. They were friends, after all.
...Weren't they?
Clank! England jumped when America slammed the mug down, wiping leftover foam from his grinning face.
"How's that, bartender?" he laughed triumphantly.
The bartender, who'd been watching America much too closely for England's liking, smiled brightly. "That's a new record, Al! I actually lost track; it's good that you stopped."
"Thanks, Sam! But a hero never stops!"
Sam giggled, like a bloody fucking schoolgirl! Arthur thought. "Of course, Alfie. You're my hero, at least." She leaned forward over the counter, smiling smugly. A slightly curious glance was thrown at England, but her attention quickly returned to America.
"I'm everyone's hero! Thanks for counting again, Sam, it's always fun to beat everyone's records! I gotta go, see ya! Come on, Artie, let's blow this joint!" With a thumbs-up to the group of drunks and a wave to Sam, he grabbed England's arm and pulled him out of the dark pub.
"I told you not to call me that," England muttered through clenched teeth. The chilly autumn air caused him to shiver involuntarily, so he rubbed his arms as they walked down through gritty sidewalks of New York. "And what the hell was that about? You ask me to come visit you, and then you go drinking with your friends?" His face grew warmer and he could feel a blush coming on, but he dismissed it as a reaction to the cold.
America's seemingly perpetual smile faltered. "I thought you liked drinking. I mean, I was surprised you didn't want anything."
Because I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of you. "That's because I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of a bunch of bloody stupid Americans wasting their lives in a rotting pub. I swear those people have no future. That bartender—"
"Sam?"
"—looked like an absolute slut. She was a stripper, wasn't she?" He wasn't being fair, and he didn't know why he was accusing this could-be innocent girl of such things, but it bugged him that America saw her so often. And liked her. He couldn't possibly like her like that, could he? No, she's just a human. There's no way…
While England was thinking, he continued walking, not realizing America had stopped until they were quite a ways apart. He turned towards the younger man inquisitively, but frowned when he saw his slightly irritated face.
"What are you talking about? What do you have against Sam? She's a nice girl. Her husband divorced her a year ago, and she was desperate for a job. She's a good friend," America explained.
England's own irritation began to build up, and for some reason he felt angry with America for defending her so adamantly. He was about to shout back when suddenly America exclaimed, "Oh, I know! You just need to chill out, man. You're bummed. It's the jet-lag, isn't it?" The easiness had returned, and England had to admit he was relieved. Not out loud, of course.
Though he did not know what the hell America was talking about. Sure, there was a bit of jet lag, but what could cure that was sleep and pills and he did not want to sleep his entire visit. His suspicions and questions grew in his mind until he had to ask. "What do you mean by 'chill out?'" he asked cautiously. He instantly regretted those words the moment they left his mouth as a maniacal grin spread across the American's face. Alfred reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a plastic baggie, waving it triumphantly in front of England's face.
/o\
Minutes later Arthur found himself in a cold, dark, smoky room with a dilapidated couch, a coffee table, a few chairs, a wall telephone, a mini fridge (presumably full of beer), a television, and a radio. It smelled like stale…stale…dead people, and he was nearly hacking up his lungs. "You do realize this is illegal, Alfred, and you are not setting a good example for your people," he managed to choke out between coughs. "Besides, you're in war. You can't just—"
"Man, don't even mention war. This is a place to relax, I don't want to think about that crap," America said, waving him off.
"But Alfred, you really should—"
Completely ignoring him, America looked around the room with perplexity. "You know what this room needs, Iggy?"
England coughed. "A window?"
"A lower ceiling, man. Just, just look up, look at that! It's aaaall the way up there!" He pointed up to the ceiling, waving his arm around like a drunkard.
England sighed. This was awful. "That is a perfectly normal height for a ceiling, America. You're just high as hell, luckily for me." That was sarcasm, by the way. Though I doubt you picked it up.
America stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. "You are so funny!" He said matter-of-factly. England slapped his forehead.
At that moment, the door slammed open, and a tanned man with dark hair burst in. "America, I'm so glad you're here! I really need some mon—" He paused to look at England, who was startled to say the least, then America, who was blowing at a dust particle. Catching it in his palm, he turned to England excitedly.
"Oh my god, I think I just caught one of your fairies! She's so tiny! Oh hey Mex, come on in! Have some 'candy!'" America beckoned Mexico in, who smiled widely.
"Dios, you're actually letting me in? Of course I'll take some; I haven't loosened up in years!" England raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. "Well, weeks, years, whatever. I'm in!"
Soon enough, America and Mexico were high as the sun and enjoying themselves thoroughly.
"Come on, Iggy, don't be such a downer!"
"Yeah, man, join us! It'll help you relax, old man!"
Arthur didn't even know why he was here anymore. He never could be alone with America and have a nice chat anymore, could he? O-of course, he wasn't that desperate to be alone with him. It was simply hard to talk to him when he and Mexico were discussing the best way to bring down the man. Once the topic of "those crazy Europeans" came up, however, England had had just about enough.
"Honestly, you two! How can you sit here, knowing you're breaking the law, and laugh about it? Could you be any less responsible?"
America stared at him blankly. "Could you be any less of a stick-in-the-ass?"
"Ahaha, America, that was a good one!"
"Gracias, hermano! But you know, I'm still not giving you any money."
"Dammit! I mean, why would I ask for money? That's the man's way of getting you down, you know? Without money, the world would be such an awesome place!"
England couldn't agree with him less, but America, in his less-than-mentally-stable state, seemed amazed by this revelation. "You're right! Whoa! Then money is like…evil! You know what we should do? We should have a bonfire and burn all the money we have!"
Standing up quickly, England smacked America's head. "Don't you dare, you git! This is why you should not be getting high! You get stupid ideas in your head, and God knows how many you actually follow through!" America pouted and rubbed his head while Mexico frowned.
"You had a much better dad than I did, man. Spain was a total ass," he nodded.
This happened to be the first thing England agreed upon the entire night.
"But still," Mexico continued, "this England guy needs to chill. A bonfire sounds awesome! But instead of money, let's burn business reports!"
"Awesome idea!"
England, grinding his teeth, walked hastily to the telephone. "I've had just about enough of you two! Why can't you be good, like…like…your brother!"
"You mean Canada?" America asked while Mexico suppressed his laughter.
"Y-yes, of course! I knew that! I don't know how to deal with you idiots, so I'm going to call him to calm you down!" Arthur decided. He picked up the phone and after an awkward moment of silence, he muttered, "What's his number?"
"Um…lemme think…It has a…a seven in it somewhere…and…a two! There was a two!"
Well this was getting him nowhere. "America, where is your phonebook?"
Alfred grinned at him in a way England did not like at all, and did that weird quirk with his eyebrows that a lot of people couldn't seem to do. "Why, it's in my pants, of course. I always keep it handy. You wanna come get it?"
While Arthur's face flushed an ungodly red, Mexico moved closer to America. "Wow, really? That's a great idea! Can I see?" England's eyes widened as the Mexican's hand reached for his former charge's pants, but America only laughed and swatted him away.
"I was kiddin' man, just trying to lighten Iggy up! Here." He picked up a pen and scratchpad from the coffee table and wrote down a reasonable-looking phone number, tearing off the sheet and handing it to England. "Why do you need him?"
England huffed in response. "Well, somebody has to get you two in line."
Mexico and America stared at him blankly. "And you think Canada is the best candidate for that?"
Blink. "Of course. Why wouldn't he be?"
He turned away quickly to hide his blush when the two North Americans burst out laughing. What the hell was so funny? Then again, they were so up there England couldn't possibly understand their mental state at the moment. England knew that…uh…Canada, yes, Canada, was a good boy. He'd probably been around America at times like these, especially since it seemed these times happened frequently. He felt sorry for the younger of the North American brothers. How could he possibly stand them?
As Matthew picked up, he and England exchanged pleasantries before the older man insisted he come over.
"Why? Is something wrong?" Canada asked worriedly.
"Yes. America and Mexico are making awful decisions that will ultimately hurt them in the future, and I need you to stop them, as I'm sure you know how to deal with them better than I do at this point," England explained.
"You sound like some teacher talking about drugs!" America laughed loudly. Arthur rolled his eyes.
Canada had not heard America, so he answered, "O-okay! Alfred's house, right? I'll be over in a few!"
/o\
As expected, Matthew arrived within two hours and knocked politely at the door. What England had not expected was for the Canadian to take one look at his brothers and squeal with delight. He scurried over to the couch and joined Mexico and America, who greeted him with a grin.
Before he knew it, the North Americans were all far off in their strange delusions and saying the most ridiculous things England had ever heard.
"I cannot believe this. I could understand Alfred and Fabio, but Matthew? I am sorely disappointed!" England exclaimed.
"Are you kidding me? This guy is like…the champion of getting high!" America said, clapping Canada on the shoulder.
Matthew waved him off, flushing slightly and laughing. "Aw, stop it! You're embarrassing me, eh?"
England groaned. Great. Just great. What the hell kind of monsters had he created? If only he hadn't complained so much, he wouldn't be in this awful situation…
Riiiiing! Riiiiiing!
The three younger men looked up at England expectantly. He groaned and picked up the phone. He supposed they were in no condition to answer it.
"Ello?"
"Yes, I'd like to speak with America."
England jolted slightly at the use of Alfred's national name. This must be someone important; who else would know Alfred was a country?
"I'm sorry, he's…busy at the moment," Arthur said, glancing over at the three who were playing some sort of game with plastic cups and a ping pong ball. "May I ask who this is?"
"This is the president of the United States. And who am I speaking to?"
Oh. Oh. "G-good evening, Mr. President. This is England. Is there something important you need to tell America?"
Alfred's boss sighed. "No, it's…it's nothing too important. Just ask him to call me tomorrow."
"Of course, sir."
"Oh, and England?"
"Yes, sir?" There was a pause over the line, where England could feel the seriousness of the conversation radiating through the receiver. It was beginning to choke him.
"England, I…I'd like to thank you." What? "I…I know America does not support this war. It's been hard for him, especially with all the grief a lot of nations and his own people are giving him. I'm very proud with how hard he's been working for something he doesn't even care for. It's just good for him to have a friend to spend time with." Wait…was he talking about England?
"O-oh…well, thank you. I'm happy to help."
"Alright. I know he's a bit of an annoyance sometimes, but I hope you continue to help him through this. Remember to have him to call me tomorrow. Goodbye, and tell your boss I said hello."
"Y-yes, goodbye." England hung up the phone but did not turn back to the three brothers. An intense blush had spread over his face. Sure, he thought of America as his friend, but he didn't really know if it was true. Every time England asked to be his friend, Alfred shot him down. It hurt terribly, but having someone else voice that they were such good friends…it made him…
"Hey, Iggy, you wanna come join our circle…well, triangle now? Cause if you join, it'll be a circle!" America called cheerfully.
England sucked in his breath and turned his head up to keep a single stubborn tear in its place. Happy. Smiling, he faced them and nodded. "I'd love to."
/o\
Birds chirping. Bright light permeating his softly closed eyelids. Warm, but strangely cold. Where was he? Arthur opened his eyes slowly. The room seemed familiar, but it was definitely not his. He tried to evoke what had happened the night before. Unfortunately, he had been cursed with the talent of remembering every single thing he did and said when he was drunk. But now? He couldn't recall a thing. All he knew was that his head was pounding and he had pains in all the wrong places.
It was when England finally decided to sit up that America walked in adorned in jeans and a ratty t-shirt and holding a cup of coffee. He paused when he saw that England was awake, then nodded.
"Hey."
Ah. This was America's room. Wait. America's room…America's bed…Shitshitshitshit what the bloody hell happened—
"I figured I shouldn't wake you up, you might get cranky or something." America walked to one of his drawers, rifling through some clothes and tossing a pair of slacks and a white button-up shirt to the older man. "It's half past noon. Your clothes are in the wash now."
England buried his face in his hands. Bloody fucking fuck. He was indeed naked. He was not, however, about to put these facts together in his mind. Not now, at least. "Where are Mexico and…er…"
"Canada? They left about two hours after you joined us," he said. Alfred tipped his head back, taking a few large gulps of coffee. England stared at him in distracted interest, watching as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down with each careful swallow…
That was it. He couldn't take it anymore. "America, what did I do last night…?"
Alfred slowly lowered the mug from his lips. England noticed quite suddenly that his former colony wasn't wearing his glasses and looked much younger. He was refusing to look at him, however. Why couldn't he just look at him? Why didn't he ever look at him? Always someone else. The bartender. Mexico. Canada. When was the last time they were alone, besides now? Because now was a bit awkward.
Frustrated, England swung his legs over the side of the bed, wrapping the sheets around his shoulders. He walked with purposeful steps to the American before him until there was hardly a centimeter between them.
"Alfred. What. Happened."
America gave him a lopsided smile, glancing down at his state of undress. "I thought it was kind of obvious. Sheesh, you're supposed to be the perceptive one."
Arthur was about to retaliate when Alfred leaned down and kissed his forehead. Ruffling England's hair and turning away, he said, "This is why we can't be friends!"
He laughed and slammed the bedroom door shut behind him as a pillow flew into it with a forceful thud.
A/N: Somehow this ending doesn't feel complete to me, but I tried. If you could somehow not tell from the title or the story itself, this is based off of That '70s Show. Which I also do not own, of course. I just love their "circles," they're hilarious. I had to do my own, decidedly with a Hetalia fanfiction. Because drugs are baaaaad. Don't do them. Thanks for reading, and please review, for it makes me smile~