Author's Note: Wow, this is my first real fan fiction, let alone a Hetalia one. Please excuse my horrible sentence construction, overuse of commas, and lack of knowledge about how to make a story flow. Also if you say one thing about me using their nation names I'm gonna kick your ass.
Anyways, I wrote this for Neko, my love and wife (even though she's the 'seme'). She's incredibly supportive and an awesome writer, artist, and friend. I don't know what I'd do without her. I love you Neko~ 3
Warning: Personified countries, boy love, and language
"…and then they all lived happily ever after. The end."
"Wait, that can't be the end, England!" America argued. The young colony was obviously displeased with the conclusion.
"Eh?" England had just spent about an hour telling stories about damsels in distress, fire breathing dragons, evil witches, and the adventures and exploits of a courageous hero. Usually a simple 'the end' was good enough for America's tastes.
"Don't the prince and the princess have kids?" America inquired.
"Yes, I'm sure they did,"
"How many?"
England sighed. "They had thirty two."
"What were their names?"
"Michael, Elizabeth, George, Henry, Philli-"
"What happened to the other dragon that escaped?" America asked, not giving England the time to answer the question and not caring about the answer any more.
"He went to France and ate the evil King of the Frogs." England replied, smirking as he imagined a dragon swallowing the last bit of the perverted France.
"And what about the carpenter? And the other princess? And the unicorn? And the-"
"America, it's time for bed." England told him, pulling up the sheets to the boy's chin.
"But I'm not sleepy!" America protested, yawning. His eyes started to close
The older country smiled and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "Sweet dreams," he whispered softly. The British gentleman turned out the lights and walked to his own room to retire for the night.
"ENGLAAAAAAAAND!!!"
"Eh, wha- GAH!" The breath was knocked out of him as America crashed into his stomach. The boy grabbed onto England's shirt and began sobbing into it. "America, what's wrong?!" England asked, his voice thick with worry and concern.
"Th-there's a ghost in my room!" the boy cried, burying his face deeper into the shirt's soft fabric.
England sighed in relief. Nothing was wrong; America just had a bad dream. He stroked the baby country's hair. "It's okay, it's okay," he soothed.
America looked up, his cerulean eyes watering. "Y-you'll get rid of it, right?" he whispered, hiccupping. His face was blotchy and tear stained.
"Of course." England got out of his bed and walked over to his bookshelf. "Potions for Beginners, no…. Spells and Summoning, no…. ah… here it is," he muttered, pulling a large and rather dusty black book out of the hodge-podge of papers, books, and broken quills. The nation rubbed the dust off of the ancient cover, revealing the words 'Exorcism' written in fading silver ink. He grabbed his black hooded cloak off the coat stand and walked out of the room. America had the sheets pulled up to his chin, his eyes wide with fear. The clamoring and England loud chants and eerie moaning could be heard coming from America's room.
After about five minutes of England sitting on the tiny colony's bed banging pots and pans together and shouting nonsense that didn't even mean anything in England's magical world he came back into his bedroom. He hated lying to America, but this was the only way that either of them would get any sleep.
'He sure showed that ghost!' America thought, watching England triumphantly saunter back into the room.
"It's gone." England declared, hanging his cloak back up and setting the book back on the shelf. When he went to pick up America and bring him back to his own room the boy clung onto the bed post with a death grip. Realizing that this wasn't going to go anywhere, the older country gave up and plopped America back down onto the bed. "Fine, you can sleep with me tonight," he sighed.
America scrambled back under the covers and snuggled up next to the UK. England, feeling a little touched, stroked America's hair and sang soft lullabies about never-ending summers, magic, and adventures at sea. The two soon slipped into the world of dreams.
About 300-some years later…
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrring~! Brrrrrrrrrrrrrring~! Brrrrrrrrrring~!
England painfully opened his eyes, blinking drowsily at the phone. "Huh, wha…..?" he grumbled, glancing at his alarm clock. '1:27 am' shone in blue neon text. The Brit growled, pulled up the covers to his chin, and clamped his eyes shut.
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrring~! Brrrrrring~! Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring~!
That did it. England threw the blankets off of him and trudge to the phone. "Who the bloody hell would call someone at this hour?" he cursed. He answered it in a huff. "Hello?"
"England! You gotta help me!"
The nation held the receiver a little ways away from his head so that America wouldn't kill his eardrums.
"What do you want you git?" England asked, obviously pissed about being woken up.
"There's a ghost in my house!" America answered, his voice panicky.
"There is not a ghost in your house!"
"Yes there is! He's big and has red eye and wants to kill me!"
England rolled his eyes. "I'm hanging up-"
"Please England! Come over here and do that weird chant thingy-ma-bob you can do! Just get rid of it!" America pleaded.
England rolled his eyes. "Fine… I'll be over in a bit." he said, hanging up. He threw on some clothes and headed out towards the younger country's house. "That America sure can be cute sometimes…" he sighed.
When he arrived at the house America was waiting at the front door, clad in his red, white, and blue pajama pants.
"Alright… so where is this ghost?" England asked, trying to keep from staring at America's bare chest.
"In here! Hurryyyyyyy~" America whined, grabbing England by the arm and pulling him inside. He ignored England's profane language as he dragged him up the stairs to his room.
"It's in the closet…." America whimpered, pointing to the closet door.
"I'll see what I can do." England grunted, walking into the room. America followed; a sneaky smirk painted on his face, and closed the door with a loud 'Click'.
"Hey, America, what're you doing you wanker?!"
"England, you ask too many questions sometimes."
Author's Note: This was a little hard too write. I struggle with writing England, as you can probably tell. I think I got him at least a bit in character. I'm more comfortable with writing really childish characters, timid characters, really grumpy and disgruntled characters, and over-the-top characters. I made America kinda too wussy in his fanfic... ^^; Please give me your input about what I can improve on. All critique is welcome. Just be merciful, don't kill me too much.