(A/N) Hello all! I am new here and this is my first story! Yay! I have many ideas but my writing usually just falls away and I give up on it. I really want to try and make this one work! I hope you enjoy!

Special thank you to my Beta for this story who has helped me extremely. Thank you so much for putting up with me, Kitty29!

Arthur Kirkland, the personification of the United Kingdom, paced his kitchen furiously. He took another gulp of his London Gin right out of the bottle and ran his hand through his messy hair. That hamburger-loving American was sitting right in his living room. He could say 'Iggy', make fun of his food, defile his precious landmarks, but insulting his queen was where Arthur drew the line. The small amount of alcohol was already having an effect; his vision was getting clouded and the lights seemed brighter. A wicked idea blossomed in the back of his mind and before he knew it he was heading to the nearest door.

He swung the door open and ripped his cloak off the hook to the left of the entrance. He pulled the long black fabric over his shoulders and proceeded to tie the thin strings around his neck to hold it in place, the bottle in hand somewhat hindering his attempts. He took another gulp of the blissful liquid as he stumbled down the stairs. Once he reached the bottom, he smirked at the sight of his magic circle. The faded white lines only made his bleary eyesight worse trying to focus on them. He quickly gave up on his quest to clearly make out the circle and went on to try and find the bookshelf where he kept his vast collection of spell books. He placed his alcohol on the ground then grabbed a book randomly. He moved to the middle of his circle and opened the book; trying to make out the words on the page before him. Why did they all have to be jumping out at him? He read the words nevertheless; correctly… he wasn't sure.

A random flash of light exploded around him as he felt his energy drain. Spells can take a lot out of a person. The Englishman fell to his knees and dropped the spell book, making a resonating thud throughout the basement. He disregarded the spell book and kicked it elsewhere before shakily getting to his feet. He stumbled over to his bookshelf and picked up the bottle of Gin before he walked to the stairs and attempted to climb them; almost falling on occasion. He reached the top and threw open the door. He put the bottle to his lips and tilted it upward, draining the entire glass of its contents. When he came back up for air the bottle slipped from his hands and shattered once it made contact with the floor. His head snapped to the right when he heard, "Iggy! Are you all right bro?"

Oh, that's right, Alfred was still here, "Dude where are you? You aren't cooking again, right?

Arthur huffed with annoyance. "I'm over here you twat," he called out. He put a hand to his forehead feeling a throbbing. Alfred walked into the hallway, saw the drunken Arthur and sighed. "Were you drinking without me?"

"Of course I was, you cannot tell me what I can and cannot do," came the snarky reply from the glaring Englishman.

Alfred shook his head. "Come on man, I don't feel like sitting here and taking care of you. Just go to bed. I didn't come to watch you get drunk and go on about your religion."

Arthur stomped his foot. "How dare you! I know my religion! I am Protestant! Or…am I Catholic?"

Alfred grinned widely. "See. I am just going to go home. Night man." With that the American left the house without even waiting for a reply from the drunken Arthur.

"Crap, crap, crap." Alfred rushed through his front door, slipping off his bomber jacket and throwing it on the nearest chair. "Tony! You better not have messed with my stuff again!

Alfred walked into his office, relieved to see everything still in place. He immediately began to draw a superhero. "I almost forgot to do my presentation for the meeting tomorrow." He drew in silence until the picture was done, well past eleven o'clock. A yawn escaped his lips as he stretched out his back

"Hmm, how long has it been?" Alfred wondered aloud. He turned his head slightly to look at the clock hanging on the wall opposite the entrance of the room.

"Man, it's already 11:48." Alfred stood from his chair. "Oh well. I don't need an actual report anyway. All that matters is the superhero!"

Alfred shuffled up the stairs towards his bedroom and said to Tony, "Night bro, don't try to bomb Iggy like last week." Alfred heard his alien friend reply, "Limey Bastard."

Alfred chuckled at this and scratched his back. Was it him, or did his shirt just get really itchy all of a sudden? It was probably just his imagination. He stripped down and pulled his pajama pants on then took his glasses off and placed them on the bedside table.

Dang, why did it feel like someone had lit his back on fire?

He rubbed his neck and shoulder blades mindlessly to sooth them as he flopped onto his hamburger-patterned comforter. With a peaceful sigh, he fell into a very deep sleep. His sleep did not go undisturbed, however. Throughout the entire night he was tossing and turning. Alfred had horrible dreams. Flashes of light, a blazing fire, parades of feathers, a shrill noise; it all played over and over again in his head.

Alfred woke up the next morning and rubbed his eyes while he yawned. He stretched out his limbs, but something didn't feel…right. He grabbed his glasses from the bedside table and placed them softly on the bridge of his nose. He stood up and walked into his bathroom then closed the door right behind him. That door didn't stay closed for long though as there was an extremely loud yell and the sound of a door flying off its hinges.

Okay! Please review and tell me what I can fix and how to improve! Thank you for reading!