Unexpected Changes

Chapter one: Lucky day gone bad

Disclaimer: I own nothing… Trust me, Canada would appear A LOT more if I owned anything.

Warnings: OOC behavior, slight harsh language used, fail attempts at humor, fail attempt at a Hetalia story, and a crappy way of explaining scenery ahead.

Words: Aprox. 1,100

When Matthew woke up that morning, he thought that day might be a fairly good day.

There were practically zero chances for rain so he could finally set his clothes out to dry; the pancakes he made for breakfast had been exceptionally delicious; there was a 35% off all hockey items at the supermarket and after helping a young lady with her many shopping bags, she paid him back with two free bottles of maple syrup; no one had mistaken him for America yet; Canada's overall financial status was better than ever…

It was his lucky day.

Everything was actually going…well.

Until that happened…

Of course, like most of his problems, it all started with his brother. Apparently, since the World Meeting was going to be in a few days, America had the awesome and heroic idea that if they were all going to bore themselves to death at the meeting, they might as well be hammered and partying the nights before, just to 'even things out'.

Though America hadn't expressed his idea this way, Canada knew that was the gist of what he truly meant. So, with little opposition, most if not all nations wandered over to some random, American pub since the conference would take place in Alfred's home.

America apparently invited the silent nation along so that if he was stuck paying the bill, he could ditch the place and let the Canada take the heat again. (Though it never really worked…the bartender always failed to notice Canada standing right in front of him anyways…) Canada had thought since his overall day was going so well, a few rounds with the guys wouldn't cause any harm.

It was now that he noticed how horribly and utterly wrong he was.

Sometime after the drinking contest started and before Spain started trying to sing mariachi songs to Lovino while swearing that his beer bottle was a seemingly broken guitar, Matthew noticed something was not right. His head started throbbing erratically, his vision was blurring even with his glasses on, and he felt short of breath. He knew he was still sober since he never got drunk after two and a half bottles of whiskey, so why did he feel so…weird? And who was that laughing a little too loudly against his right ear?

"Hahaha! You fell right into my trap!" Arthur sported a menacing (if not drunk) grin on his face as he kept laughing against Matthew's side. The young Canadian, his mind still groggy from his condition, tried his best to question his former guardian, but only managed to stumble over his own words. So, he settled for a blank stare. Arthur continued with his ramble, obviously ignoring the other's condition on purpose. "You think you're so bloody awesome don't you, you git. Let's see how you fare against my latest concoction! This will be your fall, America!"

And Canada felt his blood boil. He was confused for his older brother again! This was his brother's entire fault! Well, sort of… England was the one that seemingly poured something weird in his drink. The blonde stood off the bar stool and tried to steady his posture by holding onto the table. He turned to England and was about to state his true identity, when he noticed said nation wasn't there anymore. Nope; he was passed out on the floor. It was now that Canada noticed that England was wearing that weird white angel costume of his…and from years of first-hand encounters with England in this condition from when he used to be his colony, he knew that couldn't be good news…

That's when things stopped being weird and started getting bizarre… Matthew's vision went white and black, like if he were watching an old TV show from the 50's; he could no longer tell if his favorite hoodie was red or grey and the edges of his vision were white. Also, the world seemed to slow down. Everything was happening slower than it should.

Italy's arms were flailing slowly and his call for Germany sounded really low and dragged out.

The tomato Romano threw to Spain was flying slowly through the air.

A bottle of wine that France accidentally brushed against was taking its time crashing into the floor.

Even Russia's signature 'Kol' laugh sounded slower and creepier than ever, and Latvia was shaking less than normal.

Then, as fast as it started, everything rushed back to its normal, multicolor speed and Canada doubled over his stool. He felt like someone punched him in the stomach, hard. While he tried to catch his breath again, all he could think about was what in the world could England had put in his drink that made him feel this bad.

Next thing he knew, he was clamping his mouth shut and running towards the closest bathroom.

Now here he was, slumped against one of the bathroom stool's doors after emptying everything he had consumed that day into the toilet across from him. Matthew had also passed out promptly after throwing up, but he couldn't tell for how long. He didn't dwell much on that fact, and just focused on getting his bearings together, getting out of the most likely unsanitary bathroom, stomping over to England, giving him a piece of his mind, and if possible, making a dramatic exit before heading home to sleep his exhaustion off. With any luck, there wouldn't be much traffic near the border and would be able to his closest home in Canada. He'd be driving to Manitoba, then. While the other nations already had their own hotel rooms reserved and inhabited at whatever hotel Alfred reserved for them, Matthew still hadn't moved to his, deciding he could sleep home for the little while before the meetings officially started in almost two days.

Matthew stood slowly in case he wasn't completely well again, and opened the stool door. It was now that he was noticing that his chest hurt and it was a little hard to breathe, probably side effects from suddenly throwing up and blacking out. He'd also have to tell Alfred to not to act like such an ass to other people if Matthew would end up paying for his troubles. As he made his way towards the restroom door, he stopped dead on his tracks. He was suddenly scared… He didn't know if he was hallucinating (he wouldn't doubt it, with what England's misdirected prank had done to him earlier that night), but he saw something VERY wrong in front of him. Dead ahead of him, stood what he understood to be a mirror…

…So why was there a different person in it, in his hoodie and pants, instead of a duplicate image of the Canadian? And why were they mimicking his facial expressions?

Matthew closed his eyes and rubbed them harshly with the bottom of his palms, careful not to knock off his glasses in the process. He had to be imagining things. That had to be it, he wasn't ready to accept the possibility that he was going crazy and was surely loosing his sanity. He slowly opened them again, but there it was… Nothing had changed…

…Merde…

So, as Matthew stood there, staring himself down in the mirror in the men's bathroom at the bar, two rather simple thoughts crossed his mind.

One: no amount of free maple syrup, pancakes or hockey in the world would make him glad that he was now, somehow, a female.

Two: he was going to kill England.