A/N: Hello there, dearest readers. I'm starting another multichapter, and the updates for this one won't be as structured as for my other one. This won't be very long though, only maybe between five and ten chapters. This story is about America being forced to repeat the past in England's place so he can understand why he was never able to let the Revolution go. Subsequently, England learns why America had to succeed from him in the first place. If anyone has already done this, then I apologize, but I'll flatter myself by saying that I think this is a relativity original idea.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, though not for lack of trying.
America was pissed.
Sure, England did this all the time, and sure, he was used to it, but that was no excuse.
"After all I did for you…" England rambled on, waving his glass around as glass around, whiskey sloshing over the side.
He acted like the entire thing was his fault, like he was this absolutely angelic older brother who hadn't oppressed his people for a century and a half. He acted like America had just thrown him aside without a thought when their relationship no longer suited him.
As though it hadn't been just as hard for him.
It had been one drunken rant too many.
"That's enough, old man," said America, snatching the glass out of his hand. England tried to take a swig of alcohol, but stared at his hand in confusion when he noticed it was empty. "What the bloody hell d'you think you're doing with me liquor, yank?" he asked, glowering as he tried to retrieve it.
America's glare outmatched his own. "I've had enough of this… this… abuse, old man! You need to get over it!" And with that, he left.
"Leaving me again, are you?" was the last thing he heard before the bar door shut behind him.
England moaned, slamming his head into the bar counter. Since America had left, he'd have no choice but to call someone to take him home. Preferably not France, because he'd never contracted an STD and he was rather proud of that status, thank you very much.
"England? Are you okay?" asked a little voice to his left. England turned to see one of his fairy friends peering at him in concern.
"Hullo, Red," he said glumly. Even her presence wasn't enough to cheer him up at the moment. The ungrateful little git had left him again.
"He was upset. He didn't mean anything by it," said Red, her scarlet wings fluttering as she descended to sit on the bar. England realized he had spoken out loud.
"He doesn't understand, does he? How much I missed him…" he trailed off, a few tears forming in his clouded eyes as he slurred the words.
He doesn't understand.
Red was suddenly struck with an amazing idea. But…
Could it work?
She'd have to discuss it with her friends.
First, though, she'd have to figure out how to teleport England home without the bar tender noticing.
America sat heavily on his couch, too dispirited to turn on the television. He was also a little bit worried, for that matter. He'd been England's ride home. He'd make it back okay though, right? He could call up France, or… what was his name… Canuckia, right? But what if he tried to go out and hail a cab and got run over, or started a bar fight in his inebriated state and gotten sent to prison and had no one to bail him out and save him from his abusive cell mates?
In a flash, America had stuffed a couple of thousand dollars in his wallet (England could do quite a bit of damage when he was drunk) and was shrugging on his coat to save England from his impending doom when he heard a little voice.
"Hey, you!"
America turned to see a legion of six miniature women with wings fluttering in the air before him, sparkles dropping from their glowing forms.
America shook his head to get rid of the hallucination. For God's sake, he'd only had one beer!
"You had no business saying such insensitive things to England," said the one clothed in green, a scowl marring her otherwise pretty features. That was when America noticed that her accent was distinctly British.
These couldn't possibly be what he thought they were…
"Hey," said America warily. "You wouldn't happen to be those fairy friends Iggy's always talking about, would you?"
"We most certainly would," said the red one, arms crossed.
So he was going crazy, too.
Great.
"Well, it was nice meeting you, but I gotta go bail England out of jail. Bye!" he said quickly. Better to get away from them as soon as possible and forget this ever happened.
"He's not in jail," said the purple one, rolling her eyes. She was the only one who seemed rather indifferent about the whole situation. "We took him home."
"You…" America paused. England's magical mini people trespassing on his property, claiming that they transported their country to his house by mysterious means?
Sounds legit.
"So, um, what do you want from me, exactly?" he asked, growing increasingly nervous. If these magic chicks could do half the things England claimed they could…
Then now would be a very good time to start running.
"We've decided to teach you a lesson," said Red, and there was something that America decidedly disliked in her tone. "One that you'll be sure to never forget."
"What do you—" he started, but he was never able to finish his question. A blinding white light blocked out his vision, before it disappeared and darkness overtook him.
A/N: Sorry that this beginning is a bit short, I just needed to get things started. The other chapters will be longer than this one, I hope. As for the fairies, they're all my OCs. Each one has a very distinctive personality, and is named after the color of their hair, eyes, wings, and dress. We have Red, Orange, Ye;low, Blue, Green, and Violet, and I hope you get to know them more as the story goes on. If you want to use them, or any part of any of my stories in your work, please ask for permission first and give me credit. Remember, pirate Iggy doesn't take kindly to plagiarizers. This story will switch between the POVs of America and England. So, follow, favorite, and most of all, review!
Ciao~
