Characters: America, China, Italy, England/Britain
Genre: Romance-ish (CRAP NO NO WHYYYYYY), Humour
Pairings: HRExItaly, (implied GerIta), EnglandxItaly (crack pairing and isn't necessarily true XD)
Okay! So, this is just some random one-shot I started writing when I lost my inspiration for writing. I got random things, and you can see them up there. Yeah. It's random. Very, very random. Also, I suck at romance which is why this is mostly humour.
Ending is rushed because I did this some time ago and I really wanted to finish this.
I don't own Hetalia! If I did, why the heck would I be here?
Warnings: England's choice of vocab, cross-dressing Italy and weirdness.
"Mr. England, will you be okay by yourself?"
"Don't worry, I'll be fine," England assured his faery friend. "I won't be killing myself. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay then. Goodnight, Mr. England!" The faery bid farewell, then flew up the basement stairs to wherever she would go.
"Goodnight to you and all of your friends!" He called back. Setting down all of the ingredients he needed for the memory-transfer potion, he sighed. He wondered how he had gotten into this position.
Well, actually, it all started with Canada. The easily-forgotten Nation was sick of being mistaken for America and suddenly visited France and England and had vented out his anger in a string of profanities that the two European countries didn't think was possible for a meek country like Canada until he asked them to "make him feel what I felt" during his 30 minute rant. France had immediately put all of the work on England's list of things-to-do, leaving him to work his magic and make a potion.
Tossing things in, England smiled. Not only would he would help his Commonwealth buddy with this, but he would also deal a blow from himself to America. The North American country was much too carefree... Even a young country like Canada had it's share of difficulties (and most of them was either being forgotten or dealing with America's problems). America hadn't. It was (mostly) a cakewalk in the park, England had decided.
Peering down into the boiling cauldron, he smiled. Even if the others thought his food was terrible, none would be able to compete with him in his witchcrafty ways except for his friends Norway and Romania. The musky smell and colour of the potion were perfect, as bubbles joyously bounced up and down. With a sudden "pop," one bubble popped, liquid splashing England's face. He winced and let out a squeak of distress.
"Ow..." He muttered, wiping the liquid off with a nearby cloth. Dousing the fire then grabbing a ladle, he spooned some of the potion into a random McDonalds extra-large soda cup that Canada gave England to use against America. His plan was ready.
Finishing up his usual bedtime routine, he climbed into bed and slept.
Well, he didn't sleep very well.
Sometime at night, he woke up in a plain grass field, with blue skies overhead, fluffy clouds floating and the constant, cheerful chirps of surrounding birds perched on trees. It was awfully familiar to the fields he played in when he was little.
Then he realized that the ground seemed awfully close. Looking down, England realized that he was -once again- a child, his old cloak draped over his shoulders and bright green eyes as innocent and large as they once were. Wide eyes widening even more, he ran to a nearby puddle and peered over it.
"...But how?" He asked himself. Why was he a child, once more? Perhaps another memory? He didn't want to see France running up to him in a dress again.
"Hey, hey! England!"
Whirling around, Little England eyes the plains with confusion. Why was Italy, of all people, calling him? The Italian was so scared that he even refused watching England locked up in a cell!
...Maybe, he thought that he was more vulnerable and cute when he was little?
No! No! He was not cute! He would show him that he was just as mighty as he was when he was the great British Empire!
"Hey, hey! Over here!"
England finally spotted Italy, skipping towards him carefree, and... He was wearing a dress?!
"Hey, Engla-"
"Why the hell are you in a dress?!" England shouted at Italy, whom was standing and staring at him (or he supposed- Italy's eyes were closed) in a black dress with multicoloured stripes at the bottom. "I've had enough of the frog in dresses!"
"No, it wasn't Big Brother France. Miss Hungary gave me this dress to wear when she heard that I was going to find Holy Rome! Oh yeah, do you know where Holy Rome is?" Italy asked innocently, whirling around, dress billowing out. It looked beautiful, and the scenery did so much more... Did Hungary really think Italy was a girl? Or was it Holy Rome or Austria who told that to her?
Though, he had to admit, Italy looked kinda cute in a dress...
No! No! Italy was not cute! England shook his head around in frustration and if Italy wasn't there, he would probably try to strangle himself with his cloak or dunk his head in the water if Italy wasn't standing there. Stuttering an answer out of nervousness, he said, "n-no, I didn't see him around here. He might be somewhere else."
"Oh, okay. Thanks, England!" Italy skipped off into the sunset, dress flourishing around him.
She really did look pretty...
England clawed at his face, vanishing the thought. Italy was not pretty! Well, he is, but not in that way! Since when did he think Italy was a girl?! Where was he getting all of these thoughts?!
Then suddenly, pain.
He woke up, realizing he clawed at himself with more force than he thought he did, and realized there was a tiny bit of blood. Oh well. He would have to live with it today at the meeting. But, that still left him one question.
Where the hell did he get the idea of Italy in a dress?
At the meeting...
"It looks like I'm early once more," England muttered to himself, looking into the empty meeting room. Sitting down at his chair and getting ready, he organized his notes for the meeting.
"Aw, yeah! I'm early this time!" A boisterous voice resounded from the hallway. England mentally sighed. America.
Oh, wait. America.
Quickly getting out the McDonalds cup, England set it on the table and grabbed a book to read. America bounded in.
"Hey, Britain! 'Sup, dude!" America cheered as he walked in, drinking some soda. England ignored him and kept on reading his book.
Take the pop, take the pop... Take the damned cup...
"Ciao~ I decided to come a bit early today! Isn't that great, Germany! Oh, wait. He isn't here yet! I'll go find everyone else, then!"
Italy burst into the room, squeezing past America, in a dress. In a dress. England nearly slammed his head in his book. That damned dream!
"What the hell are you wearing?!" England shouted. Italy smiled and twirled around, making England feel a bit fuzzy inside.
NO! I won't fall for America and that bloody frog, much less Italy! Yes, it's just because he looks like a girl... That's it... Yes...
"I'm wearing my old maid's dress! Since all of my clothes are in the laundry, I found this in the back of my closet and I decided to wear to the meeting today!" Italy exclaimed.
"Dude, guys don't wear dresses," America pointed out.
"I know! But Austria gave this to me when I was little because he thought I was a girl!"
"WHAT?!" America and England simultaneously shouted.
"Ai ya, why are you so loud, aru?" China walked into the room. England jumped up in fury.
"HOW THE HELL DID YOU GUYS KNOW ABOUT MY DREAM?!" He shouted.
China, confused in his hanfu, started at him quizzically. "What dream?"
"Oh, he's just confused on why you guys are wearing dresses!" America said.
"HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT?!"
"I am not wearing a dress!" China retorted. He shifted around in his too big clothing. "This is hanfu. It's one of the clothes from my traditional culture, aru."
"Ve~ I'm the one wearing a dress!"
"Anyways, why are you so annoyed that these guys are wearing dresses? It's not like they'll pull a France and pull you into bed," America asked England.
You don't want to know, England thought. I dreamt of Italy wearing a dress and I thought he was... He was...
"Cute?" Italy guessed.
"H-how did you know?!" England squeaked.
"You were saying stuff out loud! And everybody calls me cute!" Italy cheered.
England slammed his head into his book.
"Whoa, when'd did you guys come?" America turned around. England looked up and saw France, Germany, Japan and Russia at the door.
"Well, we were here a few minutes ago, but you were blocking the door," Germany said very matter-of-factly.
"Yay! Let's start the meeting!" Italy cheered.
In the end, America completely ignored the dummy cup of McDonalds soft drink.
The next day...
Ding dong.
England sighed and closed his book. Getting up from his place on his chair, he walked over to the front door. Opening it, he was met by Germany in a mailman's outfit. He was holding one single letter.
"Germany?" England asked out loud. Germany promptly handed him the letter and left. Confused, Englans closed the door and opened the envelope. He slipped out a piece of paper.
Don't you mess with my Italy!
-HRE.
Who's HRE?
Interpret of that ending as you will. Interpret the pairing as you will. Reviews and criticism are welcome! I need to know how to get better! Flames will given to England to cook with... And you all know how well that ends.