I thought I would do something for Halloween and because I am such a horrible person for not updating the other story. It's like allll my ideas dry up and I can't write anything. So I promised a super-awesome person I would write something (if you're reading this you'd better love me). I could be using this time to study for my midterms but who cares about that, am I right?
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of these characters, okay. Today I will be using country names because hello, Belgium, you do not have a human name and I am not making one up.
America loved Halloween. He loved being scared (to a reasonable extent), wearing costumes, and, most of all, he loved parties and candy and parties with candy. This year was no different—America had sent out the invitations to his Halloween party extra early, just to be sure everyone would make it when the day finally arrived. When the day did arrive, several months after he sent the invitations, all decked out in pumpkins and glitter and pumpkin glitter, America got dressed in his costume and positioned himself dutifully by the front door, chainsaw at the ready, waiting for the doorbell to signal the arrival of his next victim. T\At some point, a vague thought passed through his head—perhaps it wasn't a good idea to greet guests with a chainsaw—but it was soon chased off by the arrival of the next guest and a rush of glee-filled adreniline, and he revved up the dreaded weapon, pulling his hockey mask down over his face. Halloween was so much fun! And this year, he would get England for sure.
That was the only problem with Halloween, really; England, that creepy old man, was always scaring poor America half to death (not that America was scared, really!). He was just so...infuriating, that was it. England was infuriating, with the way he could always get under America's skin, knowing just what would scare him. America was ready for him this time, though, because America had had quite enough experience with horror films, thank you. Keeping this in mind, he had formulated the perfect costume, decked the house out with plenty of fake spiderwebs and those colourful streamers that were just so creepy, and he'd even acquired a real mummy to sit in the corner (though he stayed well away from that).
Grinning just at the thought of his perfect setup, America pulled open the front door with his free hand and hefted the chainsaw with the other, trying his best to be scary—he was, of course, a master at this sort of thing. Nevermind what France had said about him looking ridiculous, and Japan was only tittering behind his hand because of how utterly terrifying America looked. Now all he was waiting for was England, and all those other people he'd invited to his party (he couldn't quite remember some of their names or where they were from, but he was never any good at geography—who cared about that, anyway?).
Much to America's disappointment, the feminine scream that greeted him when he flashed the chainsaw certainly didn't sound like England. England was quite girly (in America's opinion, anyway), but America was fairly certain that his scream wouldn't be that shrill. Probably. He was unable to check right away, however, due to the fact that he was swiftly kneed in the stomach and had to resort to doubling over (in a completely manly way) in order to shield himself from further abuse at the hands of his latest guest. He stumbled back a bit in order to allow Belgium through, not because he was scared of her right hook, of course, but because he was such a good host. Maybe this chainsaw thing wasn't such a good idea, after all...
America straightened up and resumed his position by the door, glancing over his shoulder to survey the actual party—it seemed to be going well, anyway, and he sort of wanted to join, but he really had to keep this tactical position until the guest of honour arrived. Nobody was wearing anything too scary (though Sweden didn't really have to try, that guy's face was terrifying), which left America feeling pretty confident. That confidence gradually started to wane, however, replaced with a creeping sense of boredom as the hours ticked by and England still hadn't arrived.
Growing annoyed with the whole situation, and the prospect of his perfect plan being ruined, America sulkily wandered over to the table situated by the wall, feeling the need for a comforting glass of punch, given atmosphere by some specially-ordered dry ice. Only pouting slightly, he poked a finger at the mist rising from the bowl. He sighed loudly, gaining the attention of a few of the guests who had decided to—ahem—haunt the punchbowl.
"Poor Amérique," came a distinctly French accent, dripping with something that really pissed America off (though that could just have been because he was, well, France). "Sulking because his petit lapin Angleterre is not here."
"Shut up, France," shot America halfheartedly, moodily nursing his glass of punch. "Like I care about petite whatever-you-said."
Japan, who was staring uncertainly at the unappealing green colour of his own glass of punch, tore his gaze away long enough to send France an unnerving sort of look, though America was too busy sulking to notice. Japan shook his head and resumed studying the liquid he was supposed to be drinking. If only America would learn to read the atmosphere...
France slung an unwanted arm around America, who attempted to shrug it off. "Look, Amérique, my dear Anglais told me to tell you he would be a little, ah, behind the time? He said he had something that needed taking care of, yes? Don't be worried, he never misses an opportunity to try to scare you." France had thought of substituting 'scare you' with 'get in your pants' but thought better of it, eying the chainsaw America still held in one hand.
"Stupid jerk, making me wait, like always," grumbled America, making a mental note to give England a piece of his mind (or several) about having manners and arriving on time at parties.
Giving up on his punch, Japan patted America's other shoulder, then glanced towards the kitchen with a smile on his face that would have been unnoticeable to someone as dense as, say, America (who, incidentally, didn't notice it at all). He motioned to the green drink he held in his hand. "America-san, I am...not a fan of...the colour green. I apologise if it is too much trouble, but maybe you have...ah...a different colour? One that isn't so..." He trailed off, not wanting to be rude by telling America that his punch was more terrifying than his costume.
"Oh, yeah." America absently glanced down at the drink that was clutched in Japan's hand. "We have red flavour, too. I can get some of that, if you want."
Japan sighed, wanting to tell America that red was not a flavour, but merely nodded. "Please," he added as some sort of verbal reflex kicked in.
Turning his sulky gaze to the kitchen, America went off, dragging his feet. His thoughts were so preoccupied with thoughts of stupid England and red punch that he didn't bother to check his surroundings (as was always a good idea on such a scary day as Halloween). He flung open the large refrigerator, sifting through various cans of soda until he found the red punch.
"Stupid England," he muttered once for good measure, turning around and shutting the refrigerator door with his elbow. He took a step forward, fully intending to bring the drink out to Japan, when the kitchen lights suddenly flickered off.
America stifled a scream, which was, of course, only a rational response to the situation at hand, he reasoned. He didn't scream, that was the important thing. It was probably only a blown fuse, or the bulb had burnt out, or something. Besides, he could see perfectly well by the moonlight spilling in through the kitchen window. If only that hulking shape would get out of the way...
Wait a minute, a hulking shape? Startled, America whirled around to face the window. He knew better than to ignore it; it was probably just a branch, anyway, from the tree that...didn't exist, of course. Maybe there was a plane in front of the moon that was casting such a scary shadow on the tiled floor of his kitchen. There, he didn't see anything! Although maybe he should open his eyes, just to be sure.
America took one look at the shadowy figure outside the window and immediately screwed his eyes shut again. It would go away if he didn't look at it, right? Of course it would! And he would drown out that eerie scratch-scratch-scratching by humming a patriotic tune!
Unfortunately for America, even Yankee Doodle was not loud nor patriotic enough to drown out the crash as the window flew open. America's eyes did the same, staring in thinly-veiled horror as the thing crept through his window. Both the punch and the chainsaw dropped from his hands and he scrambled backwards, away from that horrible figure that was now coming right at him, oh god, oh god, he couldn't do this...
And then America slipped on the punch which had been so rude as to splatter all over his clean kitchen floor. He landed on the ground with a painful thud as the thing came closer, close, now it was leaning over him and were those fangs and oh god why did it have to end like this—
Suddenly, America was dragged from his own personal horror scenario by a bout of unexpected laughter, quickly switching his mood from 'terrified' to 'annoyed as hell'. He scrambled backwards, reaching the wall and dragging himself up. This thing had broken into his house and scared the living daylights out of him, and it was laughing? What kind of screwed-up monster laughed instead of slaughtering its victim?
One with a very, very British cackle, America supposed, glowering. Of course it would be that bastard who had been late to his party and ruined America's brilliant plan. Glaring, America watched as the figure—no, England—straightened up, still shaking with laughter. A flick of the light switch confirmed that yes, it was indeed England, wearing some fucking ridiculous outfit and laughing his head off. America hoped he'd choke on that laughter. It served him right.
"Oh hell, America," England finally said a bit breathlessly. "This never gets old. Every year, it's the same; you get scared over some bloody ridiculous trick that wouldn't even scare an average child. But you...it always gets you, doesn't it?"
America rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right, I wasn't scared, England. I was just startled and then the punch spilled and I slipped, okay?"
But England would have none of it—in fact, he was still struggling not to laugh. "You were terrified! You should have seen your face...next year, I'll bring a mirror, how's that?"
America just glared and let England get that stupid laugh out of his system.
When he was done, England stood up properly, coughed once or twice in his attempt to regain his composure, and faced America again. It was at this point that America realised what England was wearing; he assumed it was a costume, but couldn't quite figure out what it was. No matter, it looked ridiculous, anyway.
"What are you supposed to be?" huffed America, still annoyed at having been tricked once again. "Elton John?"
England scowled, straightening out his waistcoat. "Of course not, you git. It's quite obvious what I am, though of course you would be too dense to tell."
"A gay magician," guessed America, stepping forward and pretending to be in deep contemplation of England's costume. He ignored the nagging thought that it was rather flattering, whatever it was supposed to be.
Sputtering, England smacked the cane he was holding on the floor. "No! I'm a vampire, you idiot. Though you wouldn't know, considering your idea of vampires."
Ah, of course. The fangs. America rolled his eyes—what did England imagine vampires were supposed to look like, anyway? From the look of his costume, it was something fruity. Then again, it was England, so America supposed he shouldn't have expected anything else.
"Cute bowtie, England, I'm sure all the ladies will be just terrified of that. Actually, this looks just like the crap you used to wear way back when you were all prim and proper." America plucked at the pinstriped fabric of England's shirt, scoffing and purposely ignoring those really, really nice white slacks he was wearing—why bother ruining a good opportunity to tease the old man?
It was England's turn to huff. "You're just jealous because your costume is bloody ridiculous. I know you think Jason is terrifying, America, but he's really not. And even if he were, that gaudy orange coat of yours wouldn't scare even a child as they would be too busy laughing at your horrid sense of fashion."
"You're jealous that you're too much of an old man to think of a scary Halloween costume! And that hat, it's not even a hat! It's a girly headband!"
England glared. "It it so a hat! It is clearly a hat! Japan gave it to me, and it would have been rude not to wear it! And excuse me, but vampires are plenty scary! Don't you recall when I told you that story and you sobbed for days—"
"A-anyway!" America quickly cut off the argument before England could be unfair and use that situation against him again. "You're late!"
Sighing, England tapped his cane on the floor again in a dismissive manner. "Yes, I am well aware of that. If you had entered the kitchen sooner, I would have been able to scare you on time, as it were, so I blame you."
Leave it to England to blame everything on him. America sulked; his surprise had been ruined, he'd been scared by England, and he was no longer in any mood for a party. And the evening had started off so well, too. America couldn't help the pout that overtook his face, too busy concentrating on moping at the floor to notice England stepping closer until it was too late; as soon as he looked up, he was startled for the second time that night, thinking for one horrible second that a real vampire (and not the nice kind, like Edward) was standing in his kitchen, waiting to devour him. Luckily, that wasn't the case, and America immediately resumed scowling.
"Come on, America," said England, rolling his eyes. "Stop behaving like a child; I thought you were an adult now."
"I am." America, however, did nothing to prove this statement, opting instead to continue sulking. At the last minute, he decided to throw in a half-hearted insult: "And your fangs look really stupid."
England raised a prominent eyebrow. "Oh, do they?"
"Totally fake." In his element, America felt a little better; at least he could still insult England, right?
England, however, wasn't showing any signs of being insulted. Quite the contrary, he looked downright amused. "Fake, is that so?"
"Fake," confirmed America, scowling again when he was unable to provoke England, who just kept inching closer.
And suddenly, to America's complete and utter horror, England lunged, effectively pinning America against the wall of his own kitchen, which was humiliating in itself; the fact that America was very nearly trembling didn't help matters. For a terrifying moment, he wondered if maybe England really was a vampire; the guy was supposedly thousands of years old, or something, and he looked pretty damn young for a man of his age! Not that America took such things into consideration; England would always be an old man in his book.
"E-England," America choked, out, "You win, okay? Stop trying to scare me, you jerk!"
England, however, didn't seem to want to pay America any mind, as he was quite busy nuzzling the younger man's neck, which was very unsettling and not sexy at all. America began to wonder if the older man was drunk, a theory that was given some support by the way England was breathing across America's neck.
Frustrated and a bit perturbed, America attempted to shove England away, ignoring any traitorous thoughts of how he was possibly actually enjoying the bizarre attention. He'd had too much candy, that was it.
Holding England away from himself and fixing him with a stern look, America chided the man who really should know better than to drink that much. "Haven't I told you I hate it when you're drunk? Did you seriously have to drink just before coming to my party?"
England blinked. "I'm not drunk. Are you really so stupid that you can't tell a drunk man from a sober one?"
America thought about this development for a moment; if England had been drunk enough to the point where he was attempting to molest people, he probably would have been too out-of-it to even bother denying it. Conclusion: England wasn't drunk. With a sigh of relief, America let go of the Brit, fully intending to get back to his party and leave the weird old man to himself.
Unfortunately, England had other plans as he shoved America back against the wall. "Wait a minute, you think because I'm not drunk, I'm just going to let you get back to behaving like an idiot out there?"
"...Yes?" America squirmed, wanting to get out of the weird situation in which he currently found himself. "There's no problem, right? So I can just go..."
England shook his head, fixing America with eyes that, America realised with horror, suddenly looked sort of dangerous. Like he was going to rip out America's throat. Needless to say, America did not like this turn of events at all.
"Firstly, you look a mess, you can't go out there when you are looking so sloppy," said England, glancing disdainfully at America's costume. "If it were my party, I wouldn't have even let you in."
"Yeah, yeah, England. I get it, I can't dress myself, can I go now?"
England shook his head, which somehow ended up somewhere close to America's neck. "It's Halloween, trick or treat, right?"
Maybe England was drunk after all. America sighed. He felt as if he were talking to a child. "You already tricked me, or did you forget already?"
"No, I didn't forget. Are you stupid? I'm asking if you want a bloody treat, you idiot."
Well, of course America wanted treats! It was Halloween, after all, and it was his party, so he should get treats. Shrugging off the fact that England was acting completely insane, he told him this. America was grinning now, contemplating what manner of delicious treats he would receive on Halloween—Snickers? Cupcakes?–when he felt some sort of strange sensation on his neck. It was warm and wet and oh god, England was licking him.
America yelped and tried to move away, but somehow England had managed to manoeuvre his leg right between America's, which was making the poor boy slightly uncomfortable.
"I want a treat, too," England murmured against America's skin, which was now positively crawling. He pressed a little closer, and America whimpered as he felt something suspiciously sharp against his neck. Of course England wouldn't forget a horrifying pair of fangs, and they didn't feel like those of the fake plastic variety, either.
Thankfully, it didn't seem like England was intending to cause America actual bodily harm, as he simply began sucking on the skin, which...really wasn't much an improvement, as America found himself sort of enjoying it, which simply wasn't right...it was England, for crying out loud! America, however, soon found that while he may have objections to being molested by grumpy old England, his body certainly didn't, especially not when England was slipping his hands under America's shirt and—
"H-hey!" America yelped, trying once again to escape. England looked up at him, unamused, and simply slid his leg up just so, which left America rather preoccupied. A strange sort of smirk plastered itself on England's face, and America, feeling slightly hazy, realised that maybe he didn't mind being molested by England as much as he had originally suspected, and maybe that smirk was sort of hot, and maybe this wasn't such a bad situation after all if he could manage to take advantage of it.
And so he did. It was easy, really, because England's face was already quite close and his lips really did look inviting, and all America had to do was tilt his head down and connect his lips with England's. He felt rather satisfied with himself as England jolted in surprise, falling back just enough that America could successfully have escaped, had he not been busy thinking of other things. Like the feeling of England's lips—soft—the fact that England had willingly parted them as soon as America flicked his tongue out.
Truthfully, ever since a large majority of his female population had been stricken by the inexplicable love for sparkling vampires, America had maybe sometimes found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss one. Though England wasn't technically a vampire (thank god), he was as close as America was ever even going to attempt to get. And England was probably better, anyway; maybe Edward was sexy, but who wanted to make out with a guy who was cold and felt like marble? England was warm and soft and, as America slid his tongue along and around those pointed teeth, made noises that were positively delicious.
England, however, seemed slightly annoyed with the fact that America had turned the tables on him and promptly wrestled the American's tongue back into his own mouth, taking him by surprised, though it wasn't necessarily unpleasant as he felt England's tongue rub against his own. And then England's leg moved up just a bit more and oh, America couldn't stand it anymore, he had needs and England was going to take care of them—
"Mama! Papa!" America was startled out of his clouded state of mind by a shrill voice coming from over by the kitchen door. Simultaneously, he and England glanced over at the disturbance. They also probably simultaneously turned a lovely shade of red when they spotted the small boy staring at them in a mixture of horror and fascination.
"Mama! Papa!" Sealand cried again, glancing over his shoulder impatiently. "My jerk brother is trying to eat America!"
England scrambled away from America, who, embarrassed, straightened up and tried to act normal, willing his face to return to a normal colour before Finland and Sweden happened upon the scene. He was glad he'd left his shirt untucked—at least it was long enough to hide any...problems he might have acquired.
When Finland stuck his head into the room, both America and England had managed to look mostly normal. Sealand pointed at them, delighted. "I knew my brother was evil, Mama! Look, he's going to eat America!"
"I think you've had too much candy..." said Finland, glancing from England to America to Sealand. "Just because he's dressed as a vampire doesn't mean he's going to eat anyone..."
Out of the corner of his eye, America saw England sigh in relief. Glancing back at Finland and Sealand, he watched as Finland apologised and dragged the protesting boy out of the room, murmuring about how it was the last time he was allowed so much candy past his bedtime.
Once they were safe, England and America glanced at each other.
"...I really think you should get back to your party," said England, looking away again, still flushed, if America wasn't mistaken (and he was never mistaken). "Before someone else comes looking for you."
With a sinking feeling, America realised his companion was right; who knew how long it would be before someone like, say, France walked into the kitchen? Still, he was a little disappointed...
Straightening up, England cleared his throat. "I'll go, too, since I did say I would attend your party." He was just starting for the kitchen door when America grabbed his arm, jerking him backwards with an indignant squawk.
"Come on, England, let me be a gentleman and show you in," said America, grinning and starting to drag England towards the kitchen door. He glanced over his shoulder. "Besides, you still owe me a treat later."
England's face heated up again, though America chose to pretend he didn't notice. He would, however, get that treat from England; after all, what was Halloween without treats?
So that's it and it's not very good alksjdasld shh I lost my train of thought and rambled. Also I wanted to inform you that I will probably be changing my name because this one is way too obvious and I would die if someone found me, so. Yes, not that it really matters and I won't be doing it often. Just this once.
This became very long but I finished it in one chapter. It was supposed to be ready on Halloween but I got lazy.
ALSO. I really really wanted to do a Hogwarts AU for Hetalia because sob it fits so if anyone has any ideas I can use, please tell me or I'll have to wing it (and probably not finish it). Also, I promise to finish the other story but I need to get my ideas back.