A/N: What's this? Another story? Yeah, sorry about that…but I've been trying to write the next chapter of "The Angry Library Aide" for about two months now and it just won't WORK. So to try and work out the kinks in my writing, I decided to try my hand at another fairytale parody, and voila! The first chapter was done in a few days…and it only covers the first page of the story in my Grimm book.

Romerica again, though I'm afraid our favorite angry Italian doesn't show up this chapter. Jett is Australia (Hetalia Wiki says this is one of the potential names Himaruya gave him, and I decided to use it since it sounds so badass—think about it, if you live in Australia, you must be either a badass or an idiot). Simpleton is America, though people will eventually start calling him Alfred. This chapter also contains mentions of FrUK and PruCan, which are basically my default pairings (along with RoChu) even though I don't actually ship them.

Rated for language!

BREAK

The Aureate Poultry, by AoNoShi

Once upon a time, there was a couple who lived on the edge of a forest who had three sons. Inexplicably, all five of them had different accents. The youngest son, however, had an American accent, so the rest of his family just assumed he was an idiot and called him Simpleton.

(Simpleton protested this as an unfair stereotype, whereupon his mother told him to hush up and eat his dinner, whereupon Simpleton did so, whereupon he threw said meal back up, whereupon the mother was banned from the kitchen, whereupon—look, the point is everybody called him Simpleton and it didn't seem likely to change any time soon.)

It happened one day that the eldest son, Jett, decided to go into the forest and cut some wood for his family. The boys' father, Francis, cooked him a delicious pancake, gave him a flask of wine, and bid him to be careful as he waved Jett off into the forest with his provisions and the family axe.

("Farewell, mon fils! Make sure to bring home plenty of wood, you know how cranky your maman gets when the fire isn't built up properly!"

"Bugger off, frog!"

"Ohonhon~ Oh yes, and remember: if any pretty young girls wander by, be sure to take off your shirt! I'm sure you will find a beau quickly if they see the sweat glistening on your sculpted chest and muscles working in those big strong arms of yours~"

"Um, sure thing, Dad," Jett said awkwardly as he edged slowly backwards towards the trees.

"Honestly, you sound like the narrator in a porno! Disgusting pervert!"

"Pornos don't have narrators, mon cher," Francis pointed out a bit smugly. Their mother, Arthur, blushed scarlet.

"Git!"

"Fairytales don't have pornos," the middle son, whose name I forget, attempted to add to the conversation. No one paid him any attention.

"I'm manly and strong," Simpleton grumbled in the background. Arthur ceased bickering with his husband for just a moment to tell Simpleton to hush up.

By this time, Jett had escaped into the forest.

"Lucky bastard," Simpleton muttered.

"I said hush up!")

Meanwhile, Jett had travelled a good ways into the forest when he suddenly met—or rather, was accosted by—a strange man with white hair and red eyes.

"The awesome me demands that you gimme some of that cake and wine! Seriously, I'm so thirsty I could drink an entire cellar-full of beer."

Ignorant of this blatant foreshadowing, Jett answered, "What cake and wine? Sorry, don't have any of that. Nope, no idea what you're talking about. G'day, mate!" And with that he left the strange man behind.

"That was the worst Australian accent I've ever heard!" the man called after him, but he ignored him.

Jett found a likely looking tree and set to work on felling it (with his shirt on, as there were no maidens wandering the woods so early in the morning). He got a few solid whacks into it before somehow the axe seemed to jerk in his hands, and the blade hit him in the arm.

"Yow! Holy—Fucking—Cripes!"

Jett was obliged to head home and get the wound treated. The end result was that he ended up with his parents and whatshisface fawning over him and his injury, while Simpleton snickered in the background.

And they still didn't have any wood.

So the next day, the middle son decided to go out into the forest and get some.

("Ah, mon petit Mathieu! Are you absolutely certain you must go? Surely we can go without for a few days; just look what happened to your brother!"

"I'll be fine, Papa, I—"

"Right! That's his name, Matthew. Sorry, mate, I'd forgot."

"Jett! How could you forget your own brother's name? But the frog is right, um, Matthew. You could get hurt, as well."

"Really, I'll be—"

"Hey! What up with all this blatant favoritism with Mattie? Not cool!"

"Hush up, Simpleton!"

"He has such wonderful hair, non~? From my side of the family, of course~"

"Are you implying something about MY hair, wanker!"

"Um, I'll just go ahead and leave, then…")

Eventually Matthew made it out of the house, armed with the axe and provisioned with one of Francis's pancakes and a flask of wine, just like Jett before him.

And just like Jett, he was accosted by the white-haired man in the forest.

"Hey there, cutie! The awesome me demands that you give me some of that cake and wine! Seriously, I'm so hungry I could eat an entire mountain of bread!"

"W-was that foreshadowing?"

"Maybe," the other replied evasively.

"Oh. Well, I'm really sorry but I can't give any to you, since then I wouldn't have as much…"

"Whoa! Not awesome, man."

"I know that sounds really bad, i-it's just that Papa usually forgets to feed me when I'm at home, so—"

"What was that? You need ta speak up! Even the awesome me can't understand your mumbling."

"I'm really sorry!" Matthew apologized again, more loudly this time. "Maybe some other time, eh?" With that, he hurried past the man deeper into the forest.

"What kind of accent is that, anyway?" he heard him mutter, but by the time he turned to answer, the man had disappeared. Matthew sighed. It would have been pointless, anyway, he admitted to himself. People in the real world barely acknowledged the existence of Canada, much less in a fairytale one (Canada didn't actually exist in the fairytale world, but that was beside the point. Well, actually that's kind of a huge point, but let's all ignore it anyway, shall we?)

"Yep, just ignore me as always," Cana—er, Matthew muttered. "Hosers."

Anyways. As it happens, Matthew stumbled upon the same tree that Jett had been attempting to fell, so he lined up the axe with the notches already made and got ready to swing…

…only for the axe to slip out of his hands and hit him in the foot.

"Mon ostie de saint-sacrament de câlice de crisse!"

It was another day and a half before his family recalled whatshisface was in the forest and hadn't come back. They found him eventually and carried him home. He may have been more upset about being forgotten so long if his injury hadn't meant his family paying attention to him for once, so it worked out fine for him.

(For the most part, anyway.

"I brought some things to change your bandages, um…"

"Matthew, Maman. My name is Matthew.")

And they still, still, didn't have any wood.

A week later, the situation was unbearable. As it turned out, Arthur was perfectly fine with the fire, built up or not; Francis, on the other hand, was becoming downright pissy.

When it got to the point where their dad spent all his time muttering scathing French tirades under his breath, Simpleton knew some shit had to get done.

"Hey! Dad! Seriously, everyone's getting really tired of this. Why don't I just go get the wood?"

"You?" Francis scoffed. "You understand nothing about it."

"What's to understand? You just take the axe and swing it!" Simpleton protested.

" 'Just take the axe and swing it,'" his father repeated scornfully. "Look, if Jett, as strong as he is, couldn't do it, nor mon cher Mathieu, then there is absolutely no chance you can accomplish it! Give up this foolish idea!"

Simpleton complained about this to Arthur and, much to his surprise, his mother did not immediately tell him to hush up.

"If that damn frog says you can't do it, then I'm sure you can," Arthur said, nodding.

"Really?" It had been a while since anyone had called him anything other than incompetent (and foolish, and weak, and so on).

"Oh yes." Arthur was smirking. "This is the perfect opportunity to prove Francis wrong about something." He gripped Simpleton by the shoulders, eyes shining. "You may be an idiot, but you'd better succeed in this and bring back some wood…so I can rub it in that wanker's face!"

"Figures," Simpleton muttered bitterly as Arthur started cackling.

"Hush up!"

So it was decided Simpleton would try to go get the wood. Francis was still firmly against it, however, and refused to make any food for him to take into the forest.

"Right then, guess I'll make it," Arthur decided.

Simpleton paled. "Uh, Mom? On second thought, I think I'd rather not—"

Arthur cut him off, cooking as he talked. "You know, dear, this whole thing…it's not just because I enjoy spiting Francis. I know it may not seem like it most of the time, but I care about you. We all do; we're your family and we love you. I really do think you'll succeed in this venture."

Simpleton was touched. "Wow, thanks Mom! I—"

"Hush up and take this food."

Arthur handed over the product of his cooking, wrapped in a napkin.

"It's not much, just a flour and water cake, but it'll have to do."

Simpleton eyed the thing he'd just been given warily. It wouldn't have been so bad if it was a simple flour and water cake—but this, whatever it was, was definitely not edible. Despite having been cooked in under five minutes, it was horrifically burnt.

"Um, thanks," he said. "And what about to drink?"

"Hmph, well, I know you don't want any of that nasty French wine, so here." He gave him a flask full of sour English beer. "And here's the axe. Now off with you!"

So, thus (poorly) provisioned, Simpleton set off into the woods.

Like his brothers before him, he was accosted by the white-haired man.

"Yo! The awesome me wants some of your cake and wine! I'm so hungry I could—"

"Sure. Take the whole thing if you want."

The man blinked. "What, seriously?"

"I gotta warn you, though, it's not the best food ever. Actually, you might get food poisoning."

"You're the third son, right? So you got a flour and water cake and some sour beer."

"Yeah, but it's English made."

"Oh. Oh. Well damn. I knew they treated third sons like crap, but I didn't think they tried to kill you."

Simpleton shrugged as if to say, What can you do?

"Well, no worries! The awesome me can fix this the problem! Lemme see."

Simpleton handed over the cake and beer, and as they passed into the man's hands, they transformed into a delicious pancake and a stein of German beer.

"Whoa! That was awesome!"

The man nodded sagely. "Magic," he said. "It's the shit."

The two broke into identical grins, then sat down to eat. They exchanged names over their meal.

"My family calls me Simpleton, though," the boy complained. "The jerks."

Gilbert, as it turned out his name was, laughed loudly and took a huge bite out of his half of the pancake. "This is really good," he said through the mouthful of food.

Simpleton agreed. "Better than my dad's," he said, "but not as good as Mattie's."

Gilbert looked up from stuffing his face, curious. "Mattie?"

"Middle brother. You probably met him."

"Oh yeah, the cute one. So he's a good cook?"

"The best," Simpleton nodded fervently. "Although at the moment he's stuck in bed with a foot injury."

"Huh. Maybe the awesome me should check up on him sometime and see how he's recovering."

Simpleton finished his portion and stretched. "I dunno, man," he said. "Mattie might be pissed at you over the whole axe-in-the-foot thing."

"The what?" Gilbert looked genuinely confused.

"Isn't that what happens? People who don't share their food with you find their axes turned against them when they try to cut down a tree?"

"What? No!" the other replied, outraged. "I may be an asshole, but I don't go around using my magic to maim people!"

Simpleton held up his hands placatingly. "Alright, dude, chill; I believe you. But still, both my brothers ended up with axe wounds trying to cut down a tree."

A lightbu—

A candle seemed to go off over Gilbert's head. "Oh! I think I know what the problem was." He finished off the beer in one swig. "C'mere, I'll show you."

Simpleton followed the other man further into the woods. After a few minutes they reached a tree with several notches in it, as though someone had started to cut it down but never finished.

"See, it's the tree that was causing it. Oh hey Gilbird!" A small yellow chick had suddenly landed on Gilbert's shoulder. "But yeah, it's a cursed tree."

"Huh. That explains it. I guess maybe Mattie would like to see you. He doesn't get a lot of visitors. Or any, actually."

"Awesome," Gilbert grinned. "So are you gonna give me the don't-hurt-my-brother speech or anything?"

"Haha, Mattie could kick your ass if he wanted to. I'm not worried about him."

"Interesting." Gilbert's red eyes gleamed. "Well, since you shared your meal with me. And gave me a heads up about your cute brother, let me give ya a piece of advice."

"Sweet! What is it?"

Gilbert jabbed a finger at something behind Simpleton. "Go for that tree."

"Huh?" Simpleton turned to see a lone tree had popped up behind him where there hadn't been one before. 'Where did that—?"

When he looked back, Gilbert had disappeared.

…Without his chick. Gilbird cheeped, flying in distressed circles around the empty space where its owner had been. It was obviously upset, so Simpleton held a hand out to it, smiling when it landed on his finger. "What a weirdo," he said. Gilbird chirped in agreement. "Still, when a mysterious magic user gives you advice, and you're the third son, and you're set to do a task your older brothers couldn't do…"

? Gilbird cheeped, head cocked to the side.

Simpleton smiled and hefted the axe in his other hand. "I'm gonna cut down that tree."

The chick cheeped in understanding and fluttered up to roost in his hair.

Gripping the axe with both hands now, Simpleton swung with all his might…only for the axe to get stuck in the trunk. He stared at it for a moment. "Whoops. Oh well." Then he gripped the trunk in a bear hug and yanked the whole thing out of the ground. Gilbird chirped again, impressed.

"Thanks!" Simpleton said, setting the tree down to the side. Something shiny caught his eye, so he peered into the hole left by the tree's roots.

"Phew! That tree is finally off of me, desu yo!" something said. This 'something' appeared to be a bird of some kind, with feathers of pure gold. Yes, Simpleton decided, some sort of poultry bird. It was a golden…chicken.

"Wasn't expecting that," he muttered to Gilbird.

"Who's there?" the chicken asked. "Show yourself, or face my mighty wrath!"

Simpleton leaned over and picked up the chicken, lifting it up to eye level.

"Oh, hello!" the chicken said. "What's your name?"

"Well, everyone calls me Simpleton but my name is actually—" He was cut off by the chicken's laughing.

"Simpleton? Haha! You must really be an idiot!"

"Am not," the boy said sulkily. Great, now even the talking chicken was calling him that. "And what's your name, O Great and Obviously Superior Chicken?" Said chicken fluffed its feathers indignantly.

"First of all, my name is Peter. Second, I'm not a chicken; I'm a goose!"

Simpleton stared at 'Peter' for a moment. "No," he said slowly. "No, you're definitely a chicken."

"Ha!" Peter exclaimed. "Who cares what you think? I'm the greatest goose in the world! Ever! And one day all the other geese will acknowledge me as a goose, too, desu yo!"

"O…kaaaay."

"Where are we going, anyway?" Peter asked.

That was actually a good question. No way was he taking the golden chicken back to his family. This was pretty much—no, definitely the most interesting thing that had ever happened to him. It had to be some kind of sign, right? He'd always known that he was destined to do something, and he'd been yearning for the day to come for years. To just go back to his family now, to their disdain and disbelief in his abilities, was absolutely unacceptable.

"I dunno," he said finally.

"What!" Peter squawked. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"Well I figure we'll just head to the town on the other side of the woods, stay the night in the inn, and start our epic adventure from there." He tucked the chicken under one arm and turned to go. "You coming, Gilbird?"

The tiny chick cheeped in the negative and took flight, landing again on an overhead branch.

"Bye!" Simpleton called to it, and started walking.

Peter was grumbling under his breath. "You had such an intense look on your face, I was sure you were gonna say something cool, desu yo."

Simpleton just laughed, and he and the Golden Chicken were on their way towards his destiny.

BREAK

Arthur trekked through the forest, scowling all the while. Simpleton hadn't come back—figures, the lousy git—so now he had to get the goddamned wood. And he didn't even have the axe.

Eventually he stumbled on a tree that was already on the ground…complete with the family axe already embedded in it. Arthur frowned at it for a moment, then shrugged and used his magic to levitate the tree in front of him as he headed back the way he'd come, muttering. He saw a tree close by with several gashes in it, as though from an axe. It was also quite obviously cursed. He made sure to keep clear of it.

"…don't give a damn what that bloody idiot is doing. Good riddance. Can't even cut down a tree properly…Maybe now we'll finally get some peace and quiet…"

As he neared the house, he saw a small yellow chick fly past him and go straight through the window into, um, his second son's room.

Almost immediately he heard a loud and annoying voice say, "Oh, there you are Gilbird! Kesesesesese!"

Arthur sighed. Sometimes living in a fairytale sucked.

BREAK

So, what Matthew says when he gets foot-axed is a phrase I got straight off Wikipedia, which literally means "my host of (the) holy sacrament of (the) chalice of Christ." Basically, when swearing in Quebec French, you string together a whole bunch of words called "sacres" (as in 'sacre bleu' I guess) which are Quebec French curses originating from sacred terms, such as sacrament and host and chalice and so on, connected by "de" (meaning "of"). Apparently you could make a really long chain if you wanted to. The page name on Wikipedia is "Quebec French profanity", if you're interested.

Also! I have two Hetalia-fairytale fic recs for you guys:

-"Futzed Up Fairytales" by Coffee-Flavored Fate (his is Romerica!)

-"Wanderlust" by Positively (hers is USCan!)

Whoop!