Headnotes: I am foaming at the mouth. I meant to write this story a week ago, but then to nobody's surprise I forgot and made a complete mess of it. This end result isn't exactly what I pictured when I envisioned the story, but hopefully it's a close enough approximation. I might go back and edit it in the future, and make it better. Sorry if some of it seems a little rough; I've now discovered Desperate Writing, which is not really all that great. orz
I hope you enjoy it! If even one person has a good time reading this fic then it'll be worth all this panic.
Whatever You Want
tick tock goes the clock, look, now it's Halloween
"Are you sure you can't get out of it?"
"America," England sighed in a storm of static, "I'd like to say I could, but it's really quite important. Perhaps next time."
"But this is only once a year," America said, trying to refrain from pouting. "I had all this stuff planned and everything, come on England, please?"
"I had things planned as well. It's a pity for us both, but there's nothing to be done for it now. I'll call you afterwards if it ends early, alright?"
America bit his lip and looked at the ceiling, and then at the floor. "Alright," he said.
"Alright," England repeated, and hung up.
America spent another minute looking at his phone before putting it back in his pocket, and gathering up the black and orange balloons and WELCOME banners he had placed around the terminal. He could feel the people around him giving him pitying looks, and threw them a tight smile.
Flight passengers began to enter the terminal, dragging baggage of various sizes behind them. Many of them greeted sign-holding friends or family and gave loud exclamations. America couldn't resist scanning the crowd once before taking his leave, balloons and banners trailing behind him.
Returning back to his festively-decorated house was nearly as bad as the airport, especially when Tony greeted him at the door with a toy laser pointed to his face and a "GO BACK TO WONDERLAND, FUCKING LIMEY!"
"Shut up Tony," America grunted, tossing his things in the living room couch. The balloons floated up to the ceiling, beyond reach, and America swore at them. Tony took the hint and disappeared into the attic without another word.
America continued to swing his arms at the balloon strings until his arms became sore and he collapsed onto the couch in exhaustion, putting his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. He grit his teeth and clenched his fingers into his hair, trying to make the shaking stop.
When he managed to calm down a little, he took out his phone and started the long process of calling various restaurants and attractions and canceling his reservations.
"Hello, sorry this is so short notice, but I don't need a table for dinner after all. . ."
"Hey, sorry, it looks like I won't need a ticket to your show. . ."
"Hello, sorry. . ."
"Yeah, I won't need. . ."
"No, it's fine, keep the money. . ."
He heaved a great sigh after hanging up his last call and went to the refrigerator to rummage for microwavable pizza. He returned to the couch a few minutes later with a slice of pepperoni on a plate and his TV remote, and surfed through a few channels.
The local news networks were stuffed with information about the election, the global news networks were only depressing and contained no likely suspects, and the British channels he could find were a mix between trashy game shows and melodramatic fictional stories he couldn't follow. He eventually gave up and settled on a generic reality channel and set back for a night of brainless pizza-couching.
He startled awake when he felt the tell-tale chill go through him, signaling the strike of midnight. He instinctively glanced wildly around himself, looking to fend off ghosts. The TV was still on, and a trashy matchmaking show had just started.
"Now tell me Trisha, what happened with your last boyfriend? What was it about him that you found unsuitable?" A lady in a sequined dress was holding a microphone to a glamourous-looking young woman who was smiling and waving at a group of handsome men.
"Oh, just lots of things, yanno," the girl began, interrupting herself to exchange gratuitous winks with one of the men, "he just like, never called me back, like ever, and he was just never really a good boyfriend to me, you know what I mean?"
"Then what would you want in a boyfriend to make him a good one?" the lady asked. The girl was too distracted in the crowd of attention to answer, so she had to repeat the question several times. "Trisha, what do you want in a man? Trisha, honey? What do you want?"
"I want him to do things I want him to for a change," America grumbled sleepily to the monitor. "I want him to be here. I want him to not ditch me at the last minute. I want. . ." He could feel himself drifting off, but he wanted to finish his thought. "I wanna. . . want him to not make me feel. . . like a stupid idiot. . ."
The curtains covering his backyard window fluttered in the wind, and he drifted off again to the thought of bed sheet ghosts.
.
When America woke in the morning, his mouth tasted disgusting and the television had been switched off. His eyes felt a little sore and large areas of his face generally felt crusty or greasy in the least pleasant way possible.
For some reason, despite sleeping in a blanket-less couch in the middle of autumn, he was boiling. Subconsciously he pawed at the offending warmth, trying to push it off him, but it was heavy. He put a little more muscle behind it, and it made a small groaning sound.
America's eyes shot open, crustiness forgotten. He found himself pushing at a fully-dressed vampire, cravat-vest-cape and all, pointed teeth jutting from its lips and a untamed mass on its brow, sleeping on top of him.
Without thinking, America screamed, "VAMPIRE!" and pushed it off the couch, away from him. It fell to the ground with a loud crash, and then America realized his mistake.
"The bloody fuck's gotten into you?" England said, voice muffled by the carpet. America hurried to help him back up. "And a happy fucking Halloween to you too, you bastard."
"I- I didn't expect- When did you get here?" America asked.
"I had a moment of complete insanity the day before and thought I'd surprise you," England said, nursing various parts of his face. "Remind me never to attempt such a thing again!"
America looked over to the curtains from the night before; they were fluttering as they had been last night, pushed by the breeze coming in through the open window.
"Good taste in television," England added wryly.
America could feel himself blushing to the tips of his ears. "It's not like that, there was nothing else on and I suddenly had nothing to do that night, okay?"
"Of course," England said, smirking. He ran a hand through his mussed hair and made his way to the kitchen. "So, have you got a coffee for me or will I have to make it myself?"
America sighed and trailed after him, reaching for the appropriate cupboards. "I had a fancy breakfast reserved. It was in a themed restaurant inside a haunted mansion."
"Hmm. Tempting. I think I'd have wanted eggs instead, sorry. Now it's worked in everyone's favour."
America watched England grab a frying pan and a tray of eggs and crack an egg on the pan-
"Wait, wait!" America swiped the handle of the pan and dribbled the egg remains into the garbage. "You need to add oil first!"
.
"There's still a party that we could make it to," America said while they picked their way through breakfast. England made a generic conversational noise while he chewed his toast. America looked at the window again. "Hey England, why did you sleep on me?"
"Hmm?" England raised an eyebrow at America and swallowed his food. "I told you, I wanted to surprise you."
"Yeah, that's the weird part. . ." America looked from the window to the couch, brows furrowed. "You weren't just trying to surprise me though, right? You wanted to trick me and scare me. Since it's Halloween and all."
England nodded, absently continuing his meal. "Yeah, so?"
"So, if you wanted to trick me, why would you let me wake up before you? When it's morning it's obviously you in a costume."
"Dunno, you seemed plenty fooled to me," England said, smiling.
America blushed again and kicked England under the table. "No way you were counting on that! I- I mean- like, if it was me, I wouldn't- shut up!" America frowned. "It doesn't really match up. You plan that far in advance. . . and then you just drop in? That's not even your usual style."
"What do you presume to know about me?" England said haughtily, but his posture wasn't as straight as usual, and he was pursing his lips in thought.
America finished the last of his breakfast and gathered up his dishes. "Anyway, I want you to think about that party I mentioned, okay? I think we should go."
"Let's go," England said immediately. His enthusiasm made America smile.
.
England stood outside the door to America's bedroom, arms crossed, dodging the occasional article of flying clothing. "You didn't prepare a costume beforehand?"
"I had something else in mind! I didn't think you'd have such a cool costume, okay, I want us to match. Where did I put my jar of body glitter?"
"What did you have before?" England asked.
America looked up from his closet to thrust a papier-mâché helmet into England's arms before returning to his search. England raised an eyebrow at the helmet.
". . . You were going to be Batman again?"
"Hey, don't you dare insult Batman," America said, pointing a finger directly at England's nose. "Batman kicks ass."
"Two years in a row, America?"
"Don't fix what ain't broke, I like to say," America said, and then threw his hands in the air. "Okay, I don't know what to do, I can't find anything here even vaguely vampiric."
England placed the helmet onto America's nightstand. "Look, America, it doesn't matter. I picked this costume all by myself," he waved his arms dramatically as though it were a great accomplishment, "and I can wear it all day without your help."
"But, England-!" America pouted and collapsed onto his bed, bouncing slightly. "It's no fun if we're wearing completely different costumes, it'll be like we don't even know each other!"
"Well, I'm not going to wear your ridiculous Robin costume again!" England said.
"I wasn't going to. . ." America sighed. "Okay, wait, how about this. . . I've got a pretty strong constitution, right?"
"Depends on where you're going with this, but generally yes," England said, crossing his arms.
"Okay, so I'll puncture two holes into my neck, and I can go around as your vampire victim or something."
England rolled his eyes. "That is one of the dumbest ideas I have ever heard for a costume-"
"England, please, for once I want you to just compromise on something instead of fighting me forever about it, okay?" America cried.
England blinked, frozen, and then his arms fell to his sides. "Alright. I'll wait for you at the door."
America stared after him, feeling slightly winded. "Um, well. . . good," he said to the empty hallway.
.
"This is not what I had in mind when I was planning out today!" America screamed into England's ear.
"It's fine!" England shouted back, frantically pressing his earlobes closed against the loud dance beat. "Better than nothing, eh? And there's beer!"
"There's what?" America shouted.
"Beer! It's piss but stronger than what's served in your haunted mansion, isn't it?"
The costumes in the party were either half-hearted, two sizes too tight, or extremely minimal. America thought about moving away from the messy refreshment table, but the further away he went from England the darker the corners of the house became, and the more unsettled he felt within himself.
"I want you to stay with me," America said to England.
"What?" England shouted back.
"I want you to stay with me!" America shouted.
"Demanding today, aren't you? I wasn't going anywhere!"
But he kept moving, following costumes that he apparently found interesting and America had to grab his arm to keep him within sight. On the fifth time this happened, England turned on him, head tilted. "Honestly, you're being so paranoid today! What else does his majesty want today?"
America gritted his teeth and released England's arm so he could clench his fists. "I want you to give me a big fat kiss, England, how about that?"
England grabbed onto America's cheeks and pulled him into a big fat kiss. It was so sudden and ridiculous that America pushed him away, before the butterflies had even settled in. The two of them exchanged shocked expressions.
"I was joking!" America squeaked, face burning bright red.
"I. . . why did I do that?" England asked, eyes wide, hands trembling in the air where America's face had been.
"Because you take jokes too far, and too seriously-"
"I wasn't even thinking of doing that! I didn't want to do that!" England rambled; the shaking had spread from his hands down to his arms and was starting to manifest in his lips as well.
"What do you mean you didn't want to?" America asked, taking in England's shock with first hurt and then a slow-growing dread.
He grabbed England's arm again, this time to drag him. "Let's go back to my house," he said.
.
"What sort of sick upbringing do your people get here? Why does the mere date on the calendar dictate this much mystic force?" England shouted from America's guest room.
"England, I want you to stop yelling."
Silence from the guest room. Then, in a perfectly civil tone, "Whatever strange American curse you've placed on me, you'd better lift. Soon."
America's back hurt from pressing it against the guest room door for so long. His thumbs had started making red marks on his forehead. "But this isn't like your magic," America said between breaths. "There aren't any rules. It happens, and then you just have to figure out how to deal with it from there."
"Oh, why am I not surprised that an American curse would be such a-"
"England, I want you to stop insulting me."
Silence. Then: "I've gotten caught by you. It's my fault, really. I deserve whatever you enact on me."
America wanted to cry.
"Well," he finally managed, "um, Halloween isn't over yet. So we've still got a few hours to figure out the rules."
Silence.
"Um, well in. . . in the movies and stuff. . . sometimes they can think of a way to turn the curse on itself. We could. . . I- I could try something like that."
"It's as good an idea as any."
"Um. . ." America tried to think of a good starting point. "I want you to. . . be yourself."
England snorted. "That is about the most vague statement anyone could think of. Thank you."
"I- I want you to shut up!"
Silence, and "Oh my god, England, I didn't mean that at all! I don't want you to shut up! Don't shut up!"
Silence.
"I- I want you to. . ." America wracked his brain for a suitable command. "I want you to. . . I want you to. . . I want you. . ." He bit back the first sob but couldn't hold in the rest of them. "I want you. . ."
Silence, punctuated with the sound of America's erratic breathing.
Then,
"I guess that did the trick," said England.
America pulled himself to his feet and wrenched the guest room door open, and England was lying on the mattress, his shoes dirtying the covers, arms outstretched for a hug.
America threw himself into it.